Prophecy Girl
by Max Alleyne
Summary: When she had called Sam and told him that she was a prophet and the Dean was coming to see her, he had been skeptical. But then she described his sleepless nights after Dean died, and he knew she was telling the truth. Sam/OC Formerly titled "Visions."
1. Unexepected Meetings

Dean stared across the street at the young woman standing on the corner, holding up her sign that read "The End is near." He had to say, she lacked the zeal that he was expecting out of a fundamentalist who would stand on the street corner with a sign. The whole time he had been watching her she hadn't said a single word about the world ending. Instead, she seemed to be far more focused on how itchy her ankle-length wool dress was. Her expression told him that she was anything but thrilled to be there. If anything, she looked bored.

He crossed the street to where she stood, and he saw her fist tighten around the handle of her sign, perhaps in recognition, or perhaps because she saw the focused look on his face. She didn't try to run away or avoid him, so maybe she didn't know who he was. Maybe she wasn't really what he was looking for, but it was worth the try.

"I'm Dean Winchester. Do you know who I am?" he asked with no prelude. She raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah. You're shorter than I'd imagined, though," she answered flippantly.

"Listen, I need you to bring your angel buddies and let them know that I'm here."

She stared at him for a moment before laughing. It was that humorless laughter that only came when something was completely ridiculous and there was nothing else to do. Dean Winchester—the Dean Winchester of her migraines was standing before her, asking her to call the angels. The only thing that could make the situation more ridiculous would be if Sam and the rest of the gang showed up.

"Sorry," she said through her laughter. "I can't do that."

"Excuse me?" he asked, anger creeping into his voice. Couldn't she see what he was doing? He was trying to save the damn world.

"I said that you're just going to have to find someone else, because this prophet isn't going to do it."

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her into the alleyway behind them. He pressed her against the wall, trying to keep back his anger. He knew that if she was in serious danger, and archangel would appear to protect her. But there was also the risk of him getting killed—again—in the process, and that was pain he wasn't willing to deal with…again. But then, if it saved the world…

He pulled out his pistol and pressed it to her temple. She continued laughing the whole time, as if it didn't matter that she could be dead with a single jerk of his finger. "An archangel will appear to protect you if you're in serious danger. You could just save me the trouble and call them."

She nodded and he let her go. She took several steps deeper into the alley, still laughing. While Dean stared at her in confusion, she pulled a cell phone from her pocket and dialed a number. She drew several deep breaths, trying to calm her laughter, but the minute she heard the voice on the other end of the phone, she started laughing even harder. Finally, she forced out the words, "Dean is here with me. Chicago. In front of Lou's Diner."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed in relief. It was going to be over soon. He would make his demands— Sam, Bobby, and Cas would be looked after; Ben and Lisa would be kept safe; the Impala would survive the Epic Battle—and then Michael would take over and he could rest. He could finish what he had started when he tortured souls in Hell, and his loved ones would be taken care of. He was so close to finishing things…

He felt a heavy and familiar hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. He had been expecting Zachariah or maybe Michael wearing a new meat suit. But he hadn't expected his little brother. Sam was there, standing in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. Beside Sam, Bobby sat in his chair, looking mightily pissed off. But the one that looked the angriest was Cas. Anger and bitterness had twisted his features, making him look downright scary.

And then there was the girl, who was still laughing. She was laughing so hard that her abs ached and she couldn't breathe. She was laughing so hard tears were streaming down her cheeks. Everyone stared at her.

"I fail to see how this is humorous," Cas commented, his voice bitter.

"It's not," Sam and Dean said simultaneously.

"Oh, but it is," she gasped. "I've been seeing you guys for years now in my lovely migraine-inducing visions, and now you're all here. I mean, I'm the daughter of a Pentacostal minister from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Shit like this doesn't happen to me. If I recall, the verse is 'your young men will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams.' I'm not exactly a man—"

"The line prior is, "In the last days, God says, 'I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy," Cas reminded her.

"Well, let's just say that feminism hadn't made it to that church yet. And you're all here. And what are the chances that of all the prophets you would manage to find, you somehow found me. Way to make a girl feel special. Now, I'm thinking we should take this some place more private. I'm in the motel up the street," she suggested.

"That would be great," Sam said, giving his brother a look that made it perfectly clear that he had no choice in the matter.

"You're just going to walk off with her? You don't even know her name. She could be another whore of Babylon," Dean reminded them, conveniently ignoring the fact that he had been completely willing to trust her a few minutes ago.

"There's only one whore of Babylon," she snapped. "And you killed her. So, can we not compare me to the evil bitch that was trying to help end the world? Thanks."

"I know all the names of the prophets," Cas said sharply. "Erin Esther Anderson was on the list."

"Erin Esther Anderson. That's a mouthful," Dean commented under his breath.

"It's better than Deborah-Ruth or Mary-Elisabeth Magadelene. Thank God my mom fought Dad on that decision. He was hell bent on me having a biblical name. So Mom convinced him to make Esther my middle name. You can call me Erin," she called over her shoulder as she lead them down the street.

She didn't speak unless one of them spoke to her first—there was too much history between them all, which mean that the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. When she pushed open the door to her motel room—thankfully, it was on the first floor—they poured inside, though she could see the wariness in their eyes. Sam was the last one inside, and to say that she was surprised when he touched her shoulder would be the understatement of the century.

"Thank you for calling me," he whispered. She smiled sadly at him.

"You're welcome. I'm sorry that it came to this." Sam nodded sadly, knowing that he had played a role in things coming to this. He was partially responsible for Dean's despair, for his brother's desire to give in and let Michael do what he will. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to change into something more comfortable."

She dug into the duffel bag that was almost as big as she was, grabbed some clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom to change—leaving Team Free Will alone in the bedroom. Immediately, Dean turned towards to his brother. Before he could speak, Sam cut him off with words of his own.

"You want to tell me what the hell you're doing?" he demanded.

"I'm finishing this," Dean answered. "I'm finishing what I started. Things are…they're too big for us. If I say yes to Michael, he can stop the apocalypse—"

"But not before millions of people die," Bobby said. The idea of the loss of human life clearly disgusted him. What had happened to the Dean that wouldn't let Ruby sacrifice the virgin? What had happened to the Dean that didn't want to sacrifice one for the good of many? How had Dean fallen so far?

"We can stop the apocalypse. We just have to find the right way to do it," Sam said, his voice full of hope. That was the problem with Dean; he didn't see any hope, any way out of the situation that didn't involve saying yes to Michael. Well, Sam wasn't giving up. He had to have faith that he could be redeemed, and maybe this was it. If he could stop the apocalypse and save his brother, maybe that would be enough to redeem him for what he had done. Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.

"And how is that? We've been looking for months and haven't found a damn thing. God doesn't give a rat's ass, and Michael is the only chance we've got left. If Lucifer does reign Hell down on us, if he does win—"

"He won't, because I won't say yes," Sam insisted.

"If he does, if there's some loophole to be found…If the world burns, it's on me. It's my fault for not letting Michael in, and I'm the one that has to live with that. All those people, that's on my conscience."

"And the millions that will die if you say yes to Michael? What about them?"

"Pamela said that heaven wasn't so bad."

"And you said it was bullshit. You're just looking for an excuse," Erin said, stepping from the bathroom. Gone was the itchy, ankle-length wool dress and long braid. Instead, she wore jeans, a black shirt, and boots. To complete the outfit, she grabbed her leather motorcycle jacket from the closet and let her long red hair flow freely down her back. She hardly looked like the Pentecostal preacher's daughter anymore. She looked like she was ready to kick some ass.

She crossed the room in two seconds flat and stood toe-to-toe with Dean Winchester, staring him down. "You don't get to say yes."

"And why not?"

"Because it's not fair. It's not fair that you get to say yes, let Michael in, and check out for the rest of the showdown. Because I don't know what you're telling yourself, but when Michael comes to finish things, it's not going to be pretty for the rest of us. We're the ones who are going to have to live through the pain and the fear and the death. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you check out on that one. It's not fucking fair that you get to sit back and relax while it happens. If I have to be here for this, so do you."

"It would save—"

"And what about Sam? And Bobby? And Cas? They'll have to go through it, too. I know that you have every intention of having them taken care of, and you told that Lisa chick that she would be too, but they'll still be here. They'll still have to witness that, and trust me, it's a hell of a lot of blood and pain—everything that you don't want your brother seeing. Every day, it'll get harder and harder for Sam to say no. Lucifer will promise him things—the same things you're going to ask for, actually. But you left him—"

"I'm saving him!"

"You can save him by saving yourself," she said quietly.

Dean studied his brother, who was standing there, eyes glued to the two people arguing in front of him. When she had called Sam and told him that she was a prophet and the Dean was coming to see her, he had been skeptical. But then she told him about his ordeal with Madison, and about the sleepless nights after Dean had died—and she had such compassion in her voice. She told him about how she got his number—she had seen it written on Bobby's refrigerator in a vision—he knew that she was telling him the truth. She was trying to do what was best for him and for Dean, for whatever reason. He didn't know why, not really. Sure, she didn't want the world to end, but then who did? There was another reason—his gut was telling him so—and until he found out what it was, he was going to keep her around. Plus, having a prophet around could be incredibly convenient.

"Well, I guess someone should go get us a room then," Dean said quietly, though he didn't sound happy at all. Erin breathed a sigh of relief and looked over to Sam, who was smiling tiredly at her. They had stopped him, if only temporarily. They had bought themselves time. Maybe not much, but it was time—time that they would use to stop the apocalypse.


	2. This Whole Prophet Thing

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who read and put this story on alert or added it to their favorites. Support is awesome and definitely feeds my imagination. Anyway, please review! I love to know what you think, and constructive criticism is always welcome as well.

**You'reWrongI'mRight**- I'm glad you like Erin. I'm going to try to make her as fully fleshed out as possible. I'm not a big fan of Mary Sues, so I'll try to avoid writing one. Thanks for the feedback!

**Nelle07**- I'm glad you like it, and I hope you continue to. Thanks for your feedback.

**Starr-Cross'd-Lover**- I'm glad you love it, and here's an update. I hope you like this one, too. Thanks for the support!

* * *

Erin awoke early in the morning and got dressed—well, she put her shoes back on, anyway. Falling into bed with her clothes on had long since been an everyday occurrence for her, especially on days when it felt like her skull was going to implode. The room was blessedly silent, which it hadn't been the night before. The boys were pissed—Dean wanted to end it, and had made his wishes known very loudly. He was so eager to sacrifice himself for the greater good of the world. But then, he had always been willing to do that—he wanted to give his life some sense of meaning. He was tired of fighting. He just wanted to let go.

But Sam, poor Sam, was worse. He watched every catastrophe—every death, every possession—and blamed himself. Dean may have broken the first seal, but he had an excuse. Dean had been tortured for years—Sam had ignored his brother's wishes, Heaven's wishes, and betrayed his brother for a demon. If he had listened, Lucifer wouldn't be free. She knew that he tried to stay hopeful for his brother, to keep him going, but it was taking its toll. She had watched in her visions as he tried to keep it together. He kept that guilt locked away and tried to deal with it on his own—which, of course, meant he wasn't actually dealing with it.

She slipped quietly from her room—not that there was anyone to disturb—and crept down the street to the diner to grab breakfast. Nothing to kick off her day like a plate of greasy bacon and diner pancakes. As she pushed open the door, she saw Sam standing at the counter, waiting. He nodded in acknowledgement as she stepped up and placed her order, and she could tell that he was exhausted. It had been a long night, clearly. She smiled at him, trying to cheer him up just a bit. He tried to smile back, but it looked more like a grimace.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey. Did you sleep well?"

"I slept alright. How's Dean?"

"Pissed. But he didn't get a chance to say yes, so we're okay…Thanks again, for calling me," he said quietly, staring down at his shoes, unsure of what to say.

"Don't worry about it," she answered. They stood in silence as they waited on their orders to come up. Five minutes later, they were walking out the diner, four boxes of food between the two of them.

"I'm serious. Thank you," Sam whispered. She could barely hear him over the roar of the passing traffic and the street vendors yelling.

"Don't thank me. I'm all about averting an epic battle and saving millions of lives. Team Free Will all the way," Erin said. It was strange hearing her use the term that they had coined, but it rolled easily off her tongue, as if she had been using it forever.

"You're a prophet and you still believe in free will?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Trust me, with everything I've seen, I'm pulling for you guys."

"But if you've seen it, it's going to happen—"

"I watched while all sixty-six seals broke. Sixty-six kids getting murdered, nuns being brutally slaughtered…I saw Zachariah send your brother to the future. Trust me, if there's anything I can do to stop _that _from happening, I'm on board."

"If Dean said yes, it would stop all that," Sam reminded her.

"Or it could make you say yes. It could kill all the people I care about. I'll take my chances, thanks."

Sam stared down at the tiny woman that was walking beside him. She definitely was not what he had expected when he had picked up the phone and answered her call. She had a low, throaty voice and an air of self confidence that he hadn't expected out of a prophet—especially one that knew she was a prophet. He had expected her to be wrapped around the angel's fingers, ready to follow them to eternity and beyond. Instead, he found a disillusioned, sharp-tongued woman who wanted him to haul his ass to Chicago and stop his brother from saying yes to Michael. The absurdity of it made him smile, just a little.

"How are you a prophet?" he asked, unable to keep the slightest laugh out of his voice.

"My father prayed his ass off so that one day his only child—yours truly—would be blessed with a mission from Heaven. When the visions started, he was ecstatic. Well, after he realized that I wasn't possessed."

"Your father knew about demonic possessions?"

"No. He didn't have a clue about what a real possession looked like. He believed that the "spirit of sin" could possess us and make us do terrible things. I mean, I guess he had it right in theory, but…we know that it doesn't really work that way. Anyhow, after he realized that the angels were showing me things to come, he was overjoyed. His prayers had been answered. It's easy to be grateful for a gift when you don't have to deal with the consequences. " Her voice was bitter as she spoke, clearly not happy with her end of the bargain.

"What about you?"

She laughed bitterly at herself. "I was twenty-one, a senior in college. 3.999 GPA. I started having my visions, which were immediately followed by a migraine that put me in my bedroom with the lights out and a bucket by the bed for two days. As soon as I quite puking my guts out and went back to class, it would happen again. I remember having one in the middle of my Constitutional Law class. The migraine was so bad I was screaming, which only made it worse. I was in the hospital for a week while they ran tests to figure out what the hell was wrong with me. It happened so often that I couldn't go to class. I was one semester shy of graduating," she said bitterly. "So yeah, this whole prophet thing pretty much fucked me over. How about you?"

"The same."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. They were trading horror stories like it was just another day at the office—of course, for them it was just another day at the office. For Erin, it was actually a fairly pleasant day; there hadn't been any visions and her brain didn't feel like it was about the melt and trickle out her nose. And Sam hadn't seen an angel—Cas being the exception—or a demon yet, so it was shaping up into a pretty pleasant day. As they arrived back at the motel, Erin pulled her room key from her purse and began to head back to her room.

"Why don't you eat with us?" Sam offered with a small smile. She didn't say anything, but put her key away and followed him to their room. Inside, an argument was in full swing, complete with raised voices and red faces. Bobby was sitting in his chair, a stubborn expression on his face as he was shouting something at Dean, who looked ready to flip the older man out of his chair. Cas was standing to the side, covering his ears as he battled a hangover. When Erin stepped into the room, they froze.

"Wow, boys. Way to make a girl feel welcome. The way you froze, I might have thought you were arguing about me," she said as they all stared at her, a variety of different expressions on their faces. Bobby looked suspicious, but not unwelcoming. Dean looked pissed but glad to see her. Cas looked the angriest, though that could have been because she was the subject they were yelling about when he had the hangover from hell.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded, setting the food on the table. There was silence, none of the men wanting to speak. Finally, Cas broke the silence.

"Dean and Bobby are arguing the more practical points of having a prophet around," he said, clutching his head.

"We would know what was going to happen before it happens. It's like having a secret in to the angel's plans—" Dean began.

"Except that the angels are tracking your girl over there. The minute she's in danger, they'll appear and tear us to pieces. Not exactly ideal for keeping you two away from them—" Bobby cut in.

"—We would be able to stop demon attacks—"

"—She's too much of a risk to you boys to keep her around—"

The noise level was rising, and Erin felt a headache coming on. Clearly, her presence was a point of contention, and none of them—not Dean or Sam or Bobby or Cas or humankind—needed any dissention in the Winchester ranks. They needed to stand together, and she was a point that was driving them apart. She took her breakfast and headed for the door, only to find Sam blocking her way.

"Wait," he begged, looking at her with those eyes. It didn't matter that she had seen him give the same look to hundreds of other people in her visions, it was still just as effective. She watched as he tried to stop the arguing again, but with little success. Losing patience, Erin put two fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. Immediately, everyone froze.

"Look, obviously arguing is not going to get you anywhere that you actually want to be. And just to set the record straight, Dean, I'm not the Angel News Network. I don't know all of their plans; I just see what's going to happen. And as for Bobby's points…he's right. If I'm ever in danger—I mean, real "there's a demon trying to kill me danger," not "I'm getting mugged" danger—an archangel is going to appear to defend me. Since we're trying to keep you two as far away from them as possible, my presence seems like a very bad idea," she explained once she had everyone's attention. "I'm not saying that I don't want to be amongst the ranks of Team Free Will, because I'm more than willing to pick up a weapon and kick some ass. But, clearly, some of you don't want me here, and you can't afford to be divided about anything right now."

Having spoken her piece, she tried once again to slip past the younger Winchester and go back to her room. Sam blocked her way once again, thought it was obvious that he was disappointed that she wanted to leave. Dean definitely had a point—she would be very practical to have around. They would be able to fight against what she saw, to keep it from getting any worse than it had to be.

And it helped that she was a breath of fresh air, another person insisting that fighting destiny was the best option available. From the moment she had called him and told him that his brother was going to come to her and ask her to call an angel, he had began to trust her. She was on his side, and he needed that. He needed someone who had faith in him, in his ability to be redeemed. He wanted her around.

Then an idea hit him. "Cas, the markings on our ribs. They shield us from the angels, right?"

"Stop asking stupid questions, Sam," Cas groaned, flipping off the single light that was on in the room.

"If you marked Erin, the angels wouldn't be able to find her," Sam said. "We could keep her with us, have her information, and the angels wouldn't be able to track us through her."

"How is that going to affect her visions. If they can't find her, they can't exactly send her visions, either," Dean wondered aloud. Cas sighed in frustration, as though he were overhearing the conversation of several incredibly stupid five year olds.

"The markings wouldn't affect her visions. They're like radio signals; they're sent out and all those capable of receiving the signal do so," he explained. Sam grinned triumphantly, reveling in his victory. That is, until Bobby spoke.

"But then we have a prophet who would be unprotected. Do you know what demons would give to get their hands on a prophet? There's a reason that prophets are protected by archangels. The apocalypse is comin' and they would love to have a prophet to tap for information whenever they needed it. Especially a prophet so in tune with the actions of you boys."

Sam frowned. He wanted her with them, but not at the risk to her. If she stayed where she was, with her archangels for protection, they wouldn't have to worry about losing her to the apocalypse. She would be looked after, and that would be one less person that he cared about that could be taken away from him. He sighed in frustration.

"Bobby's right," Sam said.

"I don't care. I told Dean that he wasn't allowed to check out of the apocalypse…well, neither am I. If I let myself stay holed up here on my ass doing nothing, I've become someone that I don't want to be. I'll take my chances with you guys," Erin told them, her tone leaving no room for argument. Despite the danger that he knew was coming to her, Sam smiled. No one objected, despite the flaws in the plan.

"Alright. Let's get me marked then."


	3. What's It Like?

**Author's Note:** A huge thanks to everyone who has put this story on alert or favorited it. I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I'll try to update as quickly as possible, but exam time is here, so I don't know how often I'll be able to do that.

**knightlight86**- I'm glad that you like Erin. It's important to me that my OCs are likable and fairly non-marysuish. Thanks for the review!

**SKJ-H, Nelle07**- Thanks for the feedback! It's awesome, and here's an update for you!

**You'reWrongI'mRight**- Yeah, I feel like Sam is kinda on his own and wanted to give him some support. Thanks for the support!

* * *

Three days later, Erin found herself laying across the backseat of her own car, trying to get some sleep. They had been driving for the past three hours, headed back to Bobby's place. Dean was sacked out in the passenger seat and Sam was behind the wheel. Cas had disappeared after branding Erin, trying to see what he could gather about Heaven's reaction to the disappearance of their prophet, only to turn up long enough to zap Bobby back home. Apparently, the boys had something against this method of travel, which was why she was now sitting bored in the backseat.

"So," Sam said semi-casually from the front seat. It was clear that he was trying to be casual and failing miserably. Erin smiled.

"So…what is the game plan once we get to Bobby's?" she asked, still a little fuzzy on the plan. The reason that she was fuzzy on the plan was because there actually wasn't one. They just wanted to get out of Chicago because if they were going to sit around and regroup, it was a lot less expensive—not that the Winchesters were picking up the tab—to do it at Bobby's.

"We're going to hit the books. See if we can find some other way to stop Lucifer."

"Right. And how exactly are we going to find answers in the books where we have already looked and didn't find any answers?"

Sam laughed. He had been thinking the same thing, but couldn't bring himself to say anything to the others. The truth was, they had looked in every damn book they could get their hands on. Bobby had searched his collection, borrowed from other hunters, scoured the internet—there was nothing to be found. And so they continued to do the best they could—fighting the good fight, trying to take out the Horsemen and avoiding "the y word" as it had come to be known.

"Yeah. Those books. We probably won't be there long. We'll find a job somewhere and do it to pass the time. It keeps your mind off things," Sam told her.

"Right. Nothing like torching a changeling or staking some pagan gods to distract you from the looming apocalypse. I don't exactly have that luxury, Sam. I get to…I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll jump off that bridge when I get there."

"Jumping off the bridge, huh? Seems a bit drastic."

"Your brother was getting ready to let Michael burn out half the world…jumping off a bridge kind of pales in comparison," she said playfully. "But then, if Michael was roaming around, I'd probably get angel-smited for complaining about the gig, so maybe jumping of a brige would be a more merciful option."

"I don't think he would smite a prophet. That's probably some kind of rule against it," Sam answered, playing along.

"I always thought there was a rule about angels helping to start the apocalypse, too, but I guess I was wrong about that one. For being a prophet, I don't really have a great track record. I don't know how much you should trust me."

Sam stared at her in the rearview mirror. She was sprawled out across the back seat of the Jeep, her leather jacket draped over her like a blanket, her feet propped up on the seat. She was tired—they all were—and would have been asleep if she weren't so cold. Despite the jacket, she was still shivering with cold. Grabbing his jacket from where it was draped across his lap, he passed it back to her.

"Here," he said. "You're freezing."

She took the jacket and slipped it on, pulling it tight around her. It swallowed her—it fell to mid-thigh and the sleeves were too long—making her look even tinier than she already did. It was warm and soft and smelled…well, it smelled like Sam. Clean Sam, not dirty I-just-killed-an-evil-creature Sam. She had long since known the difference; her visions were so vivid that she got a taste of everything—the sights, the sounds, the smells. She had felt more of the Winchesters lives than she had ever wanted.

The worst was when she got to witness their sex lives. With Dean it always felt more like seeing a porno, thought there were moments of true feeling. She had felt his desperation when he and Anna were in the backseat of the Impala. She had sensed his unfinished business with Cassie. But with the one night stands, it was all business. They were two—or three—consenting adults who knew full well what they were getting into. It was sex, no strings attached, and they were okay with that.

Sam, on the other hand, made her feel voyeuristic. She had seen the way he was with Jess—the way he would push that little piece of hair out of her face just to have an excuse to touch her, the way that he would cook her dinner—and it made her feel like an intruder. And then with Madison, she had felt the pain of his loss, the devastation of having to do what he did. The betrayal that he had felt with Ruby…she had felt it all. He, on some level, had cared about them all, and that made it all the more awkward when she saw it.

"Thanks," she said shyly. "Do you think that Cas is going to be able to find anything?"

"I don't know. He's cut off from Heaven, but he still might be able to find something. I guess we'll just have to see."

"As long as I'm not seeing it, we'll be fine."

"Are the visions really that bad?" he asked, just as shyly as she had. He knew that her visions caused migraines, but to know what it was like to actually see the future...he had been there and knew it wasn't fun. As much as he hated to bring up a sore subject, it would be good to know in case she had another vision. "What does it…feel like?"

"Do you remember the headaches that you got with your visions?" He nodded. "It's like that…only about eighty times worse. I feel like someone took my brain between their hands and is squeezing, trying to crush it into a tiny ball. It's like watching a movie in surround sound, but I can see smell and feel everything like I'm there, but it's all too loud. Like sensory overload. The last one was so strong I had a seizure."

"A seizure? Aren't you supposed to be specially equipped for this? Like a super-prophet gene or something?"

"I don't know, but if so God forgot to give it to me," she said, irony in her voice. "My father would have a stroke if he heard me say that. God doesn't make mistakes…I mean, I guess I know that everything happens for a reason, but it's a lot easier to accept that when it doesn't hurt so damn much, you know?"

"I thought you believed in free will," Sam said, confused. The more she spoke, the more complicated she became. He shouldn't be surprised, though. After all, he used to be the same way. He used to be able to believe that everything happened for a reason. That had been before he was told that he was supposed to be the vessel of Satan.

"I do. I think that…God made us. He knows us better than we know ourselves sometimes. So when we're in a situation, He knows what we're going to do. He has a plan for us, and we're free to defy that plan, but He's going to know when and how we choose to do it. He's going to try to lead us to the water, but He can't make us drink…He knows whether we will or not, but He won't force us. Dad always taught me that God was the man with the plan, so to speak, and that one way or another, we were going to fulfill our destinies. He'd probably be a little upset with my theology, but he'll survive. I'm a good daughter, so he has no room to talk," she explained.

Sam nodded. Yeah, if her father heard her talking, he would have had flipped his shit. That was not what he had raised her to believe. But he couldn't complain too much. She had followed all of his rules, abided by his conditions. She had been the perfect daughter, despite the fact that it had meant giving up some of her dreams. And she still had her faith, which was more than she could say for some. Then again, with everything that she had seen, it wouldn't be hard to lose faith.

"So your father would think that you running off with two unknown guys to a salvage yard in the middle of nowhere is part of God's plan?"

"You forget. You're not strangers to me. I've been seeing you for the past five years or so. And with as much of you two as I've seen, trust me, you're not strangers," she answered with a grin. "But maybe it is part of God's plan."

Sam scoffed. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but God doesn't care. He told us—"

"No, Joshua told you that He didn't care. There's a difference," she corrected him.

"So with everything that has happened, you still believe that God cares?"

"You're still alive. Dean was pulled out of Hell. My brain hasn't turned to mush and leaked out of my ears. I'd say that's a blessing."

"Cas has been turned away from Heaven. Bobby can't walk. Good people are dying. How is that part of a decent master plan?" He knew that he needed to stay positive, but it was damn hard. But the look on Erin's face told him that she wasn't going to let him off that easily.

"Cas was brought back from the dead to help you. Bobby is still alive and therefore able to help you. And the good people that are dying are going to a better place. They can't hurt in Heaven. There is no pain or suffering. I hate the loss of life because that is a lost chance for me to meet some damn good people, but at least they're happy where they are," she answered firmly.

"I'm supposed to be Lucifer's vessel. That's my destiny. How is _that _part of God's master plan?" Sam asked bitterly. "I was chosen specially for this from all the other cursed kids like me. I'm supposed to say yes and let the devil rain hell down on this earth. I can't really see how that's part of the plan."

When he glanced back at her in the mirror, he was surprised to find her smiling. In the middle of death and destruction and Sam's crisis of faith, she was smiling. Maybe those visions had fried her brain.

"Maybe you were chosen to be Lucifer's vessel because you're the only one strong enough to say no. Maybe that's why God chose you. How many other people on the plant could have gone through what you've been through and come out of it as well as you have? Aside from the minor addiction to demon blood, you've done pretty good. You've lost everyone you ever cared about at some point or another. Lucifer could promise you so many things and you would say no. He would tell you he could bring Jess back. Or you mother. Or your father. How many people are strong enough to say no to that?" she said fiercely.

Her voice was filled with a fierceness that he hadn't heard in a long time. Recently, everything had seemed so hopeless—even Dean had been downcast and rejected. But Erin was clinging to hope with a tenacity that was refreshing. She believed in him when even his brother didn't. She had faith in him and faith in people and faith that the world would somehow come out of this okay. It was amazing, and it made him smile.

"Erin, I—you don't have to say that. I know I don't exactly encourage confidence, but—"

"Stop it, right now. You are strong enough to do this. I believe in you. Bobby and Cas believe in you, and deep down, so does your brother. I mean, its way deep down in there, but he does. But none of that matters if you don't believe in you. Clichéd, sure…but clichés are clichés for a reason."

In the passenger seat, Dean grunted and shifted in the seat, mumbling something about Kelly Clarkson. Erin snorted, unable to keep herself from laughing. Her laughter was infectious and Sam was soon laughing afterward. Manly man Dean, dreaming about Kelly Clarkson in what did not appear to be a sex dream. It was a miracle.

"Does he dream of Kelly Clarkson often?" she asked.

"I've learned not to ask about what he dreams about. I'm pretty sure I don't want to know," he said.

Up ahead, they saw the sign for Singer's Salvage. There were heaps of rusted, twisted cars lining the driveway up the house. The lights shining through the twisted piles of metal cast eerie shadows across Sam's face, but she knew that he was smiling. In too many of her visions, she had seen him crying or upset or angry. She hadn't seen him smile in too long. There was something exhilarating in knowing that she had done that.

"Here we are," Sam announced, pulling up in front of Bobby's house. He shook Dean roughly awake, still smiling. Dean was considerably less thrilled. She smiled at his grumbling and groaning about the rough awakening. As they were climbing the steps to Bobby's porch, Erin stumbled.

"S-S-Sam," she gasped, trying to keep herself from falling. He turned to see her tumbling down the steps to the ground, convulsing. Sam rushed to her side and took her head in his arms, trying to keep her from hitting her head on the ground. He pulled her into his arms, hoping that it was the right thing to do. In all of his years, he had never had to deal with a seizure.

"Erin! Erin, c'mon," he whispered to her, unsure of what else to do. He looked up at Dean, who was calling for Bobby. "Erin, c'mon wake up. Snap out of it."

"We don't know how long this is going to last," Bobby said, from his chair on the porch. "Get her inside."

As soon as the words were out of Bobby's mouth, Sam lifted her and carried her inside. He set her down gently on the sofa and waited for the seizing to pass. He held her still, trying to keep her from falling off the couch. Dean stood nearby for help, but there wasn't much that they could do. Half an hour later, she stopped seizing and opened her eyes. Immediately, she closed them, the light sending pain tearing through her skull. Dean killed the lights.

"Erin? Are you…alright?" Sam had trouble finishing his sentence, terrified of the answer he was going to get. She winced as he spoke. Even the quietest noise was bright, white-hot pain. She opened her eyes just enough to find a trashcan in the room and gestured to it. Dean handed it to Sam just in time as she emptied her stomach contents into the trashcan. Sam also managed to hold her hair out of the way.

"Thanks," she whispered. "I'm so…tired…I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault," Sam whispered to her. "Go to sleep. You can tell us what you saw when you wake up."

"You'll like it…we're going to win."


	4. New Plan

**Author's Note:** I'm really sorry it has taken me so long to update! I got caught up in final exams and couldn't update. Anyway, here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy, and please review!

**Nelle07-** I'm glad you're liking it. I'll try to update more often.

**eveningforarogue-** Thanks for the feedback. I always worry about keeping everyone in character and try to keep my characters from being mary suish. Thanks so much!

**You'reWrongI'mRight-** I honestly believe that Sam is probably the only person strong enough to say no, even after what he has gone through, but I don't think he realizes that. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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"What?" Dean blurted loudly as soon as the words crossed Erin's lips. She winced and tried not to cry out in pain as his words entered her head and bounced around the inside of her skull. Her skin was pale and clammy and she was trembling, her muscles jelly. Sam shot his brother a dirty look as he saw the pain in Erin's expression.

"We can…we can win this fight," she whispered. "There's another way."

She had to force the words out past clenched teeth, her eyes clamped tight shut. She wanted to tell them what she had seen. She wanted to stand up and jump on the couch and shout for all the world to hear, but she couldn't. She was weak at the knees—weak everywhere. It was hard to manage the tiny smile that was creeping up the corners of her lips, but she held it there anyway.

"Well what is it?" Dean said, his voice softer but no less demanding. Again, Sam gave him a dirty look. As usual, Dean ignored it and continued to stare at the trembling woman on the couch before him. She could tell them how to end the apocalypse without killing millions and millions of people. She held the key to stopping the epic battle before it even started.

Before Dean could press her any further, Sam grabbed him by the collar and jerked him from the room, and into the hallway. After nearly tripping over his own feet, Dean righted himself and stared at his brother indignantly. "What did I do?"

"She just had a seizure. A _seizure_. We're lucky that she can even keep her eyes open. The apocalypse isn't going anywhere. Let her sleep. We'll find out what she has to say after she's gotten some sleep. And try to keep your voice down," Sam reminded his brother.

He looked back into the room to see Erin still lying on the couch. Bobby was studying her, checking her pulse and asking her basic questions—each one causing her pain. He hated that she was in pain—he didn't remember it being this bad with Chuck. He would have to call Chuck and check, and then he would definitely be checking with Cas to see if this was normal for prophets. He suspected that it was not, and he wasn't really sure he liked the implications of that.

Dean's voice pulled Sam from his thoughts. "She's going to tell us how to stop Lucifer from destroying half the world. I'd say that we need to know _now. _Especially considering the time frame we're on. When I saw Lucifer in the future, he told me he'd see me soon—six months kind of soon, in Detroit. We're running out of time—"

"I'm nowhere near Detroit, and we can spare a few hours for her to sleep. I mean, look at her, Dean. She's weak. She's throwing up. She can barely stand listening to us ask her questions…just let her sleep for a little bit. If we push her too hard she's going to break, and we can't afford that right now—"

"We can't afford not to know what she knows, either. There will be plenty of time for sleeping once she's told us what she saw—"

"S-Sam…your brother's right," Erin croaked. Somehow, miraculously, she had managed to pull herself to her feet and was standing in the doorway. Well, standing was a rather loose term. She was leaning against the doorway, gripping the doorframe for support with one hand and holding a trashcan in the other. Bobby sat in his chair beside her, helping to hold her up. She looked so tiny, so fragile, like she could shatter into a million pieces at the lightest touch. But the determined set of her jaw told them otherwise.

"What?" Sam whispered, immediately adjusting his voice for her, knowing that speaking loudly was going to hurt her. Sound-sensitive migraines were not fun.

"He's right…you need to know. To quote good old Benny Franklin, there's time for sleeping in the grave," she answered quietly, leaning heavily on the doorway. "The sooner I tell you…the faster you can start working on it…save the world…"

Dean smiled at her acknowledgement. Sam looked slightly less thrilled, probably because he was expecting her to topple to the floor at any minute. But he could see the resolve her in eyes—she had gotten it in her head to do this, and she was going to. If anyone could force something to happen by strength of will alone, it was Erin. She drew a deep breath and began to speak.

"I saw Gabriel—" she began.

"Gabriel? Like, the angel disguised as a trickster Gabriel?" Dean interrupted. Erin sighed in frustration. She was trying to get through this as quickly as possible so that they knew everything before she fell asleep, but if he kept interrupting her it was going to take way too long.

"Please, Dean…don't interrupt me—"

"Why don't you lie back down while you're telling us?" This time it was Sam who interrupted her. He couldn't help it. She looked like she was about to collapse again at any minute. She nodded and tried to make her way back to the sofa, but the minute she stopped leaning on the wall, her knees buckled. Both brothers tripped over themselves trying to catch her as she fell; they caught her, but just barely. Knowing his brother's affection for the girl, Dean placed her gently in Sam's arms.

Sam took her back into the living room and placed her on the couch, propping her up with some pillows. He took special care with her, treating her as though she were priceless. Never in real life had she seen anyone care for another this way; in movies, sure, and in her visions, but never in life. She had never expected to be treated with such tenderness and care. She didn't think that such a person could exist, not with all the monsters in the world. But then she had seen Sam and Dean, though she had never expected to meet them.

Moments after Sam helped her to the couch, Dean appeared with a glass of water, for which Erin was immensely grateful. Vomit was not a taste that she particularly cared for, and it would be lovely to have it gone. She could see the questioning in his eyes, the curiosity, the desperation to find some other way—and he was keeping it in check. He was helping her instead of pushing her. Taking the water, she took several sips before beginning to speak.

"I saw Gabriel…and it looked like he was making a porno—"

"A porn—" Erin silenced Dean with a withering glance.

"But he wasn't. He was talking to you guys, leaving...leaving you a message. H-he said that there was another way to beat Lucifer…other than the…" She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. She reached out for something—anything—to help alleviate the pain. Sam took her tiny hand in his much larger one, trying to offer her some comfort. She squeezed his hand, trying to push away the pain in her head and the exhaustion that tried to pull her to sleep.

"Other than the whole "epic battle between the brothers" thing?" Dean finished for her quietly.

She nodded and took a deep breath to steady herself. "He said th-that Sam freed Lucifer from a cage…and that you two can put him back. There are…four keys to control the cage, and that you already have two of them," she explained tiredly. The brothers stared at her in shock. Bobby's mind appeared to be working slightly faster than the brothers.

"The rings," Bobby whispered, putting the pieces together. "The Horsemen's rings."

Erin nodded. "The four rings are the…keys to locking old Luci away. I-I didn't see all the details, but I'm betting th-that you can call up Gabriel and find out. After all, he is the one hiding messages in pornos."

"An angel in a porno, huh? That's got to be against some kind of angel code," Dean commented. Erin grinned and let her eyes fall shut.

"Yeah. It was "Casa Erotica Eight thousand" or something," she whispered. "Can you call Gabriel?"

Dean nodded. "I'll call Cas. He'll take care of it." He quickly stepped from the room, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket as he went.

"I'll see if I can find out anything new about the Horsemen," Bobby said, wheeling himself from the room, leaving Sam alone with Erin.

She was still clutching his hand as tightly as she was able, which was really not tight at all. Having a seizure was apparently a very tiring affair—not surprising given what he had seen. It was a struggle for her to keep her eyes open, that much was obvious. But she was trying.

"Go ahead and sleep," Sam whispered, running his free hand through her hair. She managed a tiny smile at the gesture. It was a gesture that she had seen from him in many visions—he had done the same with Jess, with Madison, with Sarah…and now with her. It was flattering to be amongst the ranks of such strong women, though she definitely wasn't feeling strong right now.

"I need to help…you guys."

"You can't take care of anyone else if you don't take care of yourself," he reminded her.

"You should take your own…advice." The brothers had been running themselves ragged for far too long. They were exhausted and in dire need of a break. But, alas, no rest for the weary.

"What was the quote? 'There's time for sleeping in the grave' I think you said."

"Please don't die any time soon…I think I'd be sad." She forced the words past her lips in a slur of sounds. She sounded like she had one too many beers.

"Do you want me to take you upstairs? To a bedroom?"

She couldn't force herself to speak—the energy to do so eluded her. Instead, she managed a nod, and a moment later she found herself in Sam's arms. He was warm—that was the first thing that she noticed. Then she noticed how strong his arms were, and the firm muscle of his chest beneath her cheek. His heart was pounding—why? she wondered—and she could hear every beat. If she hadn't been in the middle of a sound sensitive migraine, she would have found it very soothing.

He took her up the stairs and pushed open the door to one of the upstairs bedrooms. It was a terrible room—the wallpaper was outdated and faded, the comforter on the bed was an ugly floral pattern, and the furniture was all very matchy-matchy—but there was a bed, and it was made, and that was the only important thing. Sam set Erin down gently on the bed, pulled down the covers, and pulled them over her. She wasn't asleep yet, but she would be shortly.

"Is there anything else you need?" She shook her head. "Anything else you want?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood just slightly. She grinned again.

"I'm going to need one hell of a drink when I wake up," she whispered. He smiled at her and nodded, but made no move to get up. If it bothered her, she didn't say anything. His presence didn't bother her. What bothered her was that she felt like such a fucking _damsel, _and she hated it. She hated that she felt so small and helpless and dependent on the kindness of those around her—thank God it was Sam and not anyone else. But she didn't let any of the annoyance show; she was too exhausted. Instead, she closed her eyes and finally let sleep take her.

Sam knew that he should be downstairs with Dean, calling Cas, cracking open the books with Bobby. He had a pivotal role to play in the apocalypse and everyone knew it. But he didn't want to leave Erin alone until she fell asleep. She was alone in a new place having seizures that left her exhausted and helpless. If a demon—or any other man or beast—decided to attack her, there was nothing she could do to defend herself. Not when she was like this, anyway.

Before leaving, he checked the windows—they had salt lines across them and devil's traps. There were herbs for protection over the windows and doors. In the bedside table drawer, there was a small revolver—silver bullets, no doubt—and a silver knife. When he looked at Erin, he was pleasantly surprised to see a pentagram hanging right next to her Virgin Mary medal. Without angelic protection, she was vulnerable, but unable to be possessed thanks to her charm.

With one last check, he left the room and went back down stairs. Bobby had a stack of books a foot high on top of his desk, and he looked ready to hand one to the closest person that would hold still long enough to take one. Dean was talking animatedly with Cas in the kitchen about how to get their hands on Gabriel—made more difficult by Cas being cut off from heaven. Upon seeing Sam at the foot of the stairs, everyone stopped.

"How is she?" Dean asked immediately.

"She's asleep. The vision completely drained her. I really don't think that's normal. Is it Cas?" Sam asked, looking to the angel. He set his jaw and shook his head grimly.

"Headaches are normal. Seizures are not," he answered. Sam nodded, wondering what the problem was.

"Any leads on Gabriel?" Sam had to ask—he had to have some sort of good news, because Erin's pain was driving him insane.

"We've got a summoning ritual we can do. That should bring him here," Cas said. Sam pushed up his sleeves, preparing for a messy ritual.

"Alright, then. Let's get started."


	5. Good Ol' Gabe

**Author's Note: **So, here's another chapter. I'm going to try to start picking up the timeline so that time goes by a bit faster, just because I'm not really a fan of "they look across the room and fall in love" fics. But it would be really awesome to get some more reviews...please? I'll try to update as quickly as possible. =)

**You'reWrongI'mRight-**I'm glad that you like Sam and Erin together. I'm trying to show that they really are suited for one another, which is hard because there is always the ghost of Jess to contend with, which is why I feel like we'll never get a long-term love interest for Sam on the show. But anyway, I'm glad that you like them and thanks so so much for the review!

**Nelle07-**I'm glad you're enjoying it and hope that you continue to do so. Thanks for the continued support!

* * *

Cas was busy trying to summon Gabriel so that they could learn the finer details of this new plan to put Lucifer back in his place. Poor Sam was trying to help, but he was running on four hours of sleep and was really causing more problems than he was helping to resolve. Finally, Dean pulled him aside.

"Sammy, you're exhausted. You're too jittery to even make a decent salt circle. Go get some sleep. We'll wake you up when we get Gabriel here. It might take us a while to get the supplies we need, anyway," he told his brother.

Sam shook his head. He was running on caffeine and sugar, but he couldn't stop. Not when he was so close to redemption. "I can't sleep, Dean. Not when we're so close—"

"You're practically dead on your feet. If you won't go get some sleep, go call Chuck about Erin and see what he can tell you. Just...stay away from Cas while he's setting up his ritual. God knows what's going to happen if there's a hair out of place."

"The ritual does not call for any hair," Cas called from the other room.

"Look, go call Chuck, talk to him, and then get some sleep. You look like shit…and you're never going to get any from prophecy girl if you look like shit."

"Really, Dean? It's the end of the world and you're thinking about getting laid." Sam sighed in frustration and then considered what he had just said. Of course that's what his brother would do. "Never mind. Just get me Chuck's number."

"It's in my cell phone."

Sam quickly dialed the number and stepped outside onto the porch. It rang once before a familiar masculine voice answered with a "Yes, Mistress Mimi?"

"Chuck?" Sam asked. He shouldn't have been surprised by the odd greeting. After all, it was the end of the world and Chuck was probably just trying to get in his last hoorah—like everyone else, it seemed. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if Cas started doing drugs and having orgies. The whole world was going to hell.

"Oh…Sam. Hey. What can I do for you?" Chuck answered.

"I need to talk to you about other prophets. Have you met any?"

"Other prophets? No, I haven't. I've seen them in visions, though. Why?"

Sam took a deep breath to brace himself. Launching into his explanation wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, though it was highly necessary. "We met one. Dean and I. She was in Chicago."

"And you want to know if she's legit? I can't help you with that."

"Cas said that she was the real deal. But her visions…they aren't like yours. You just have a headache and try to drink it off. You probably wouldn't even have a headache if it weren't for the drinking. But this girl, she's…the visions are giving her seizures," Sam explained.

"Siezures? The other prophets that I've seen in my visions haven't had seizures. They've been like me. A slight headache afterward, but that's about it."

"If it were anything supernatural, the angels would have protected her from it. Whatever it is, it has to be something natural."

"Prophets have all the regular human problems that everyone else does?" Sam asked. Supernatural protection? Sure the angels could take care of that. Head splitting migraines? Nope, sorry. You're just shit out of luck.

"Yeah. We still get colds and we still get headaches. We especially get head aches."

"But not seizure-inducing migraines?" Sam asked, desperate to hear Chuck say that this was all normal, that it was all part of the burden of being a prophet. But with each question, he just got more and more answers that he didn't like.

"No…it sounds like her body just can't handle the visions," Chuck said, confused. Yeah, he had headaches, but nothing close to what Sam was describing.

"But she's a prophet! She should be able to handle it, should she not?"

"I don't know, Sam. The only thing I can think to tell you is that maybe you should ask Cas—"

"We did. He doesn't know anything," Sam answered in exasperation. It seemed like one big circle. Cas wasn't sure, so they called Chuck. Now Chuck is unsure and said to ask Cas, who was unsure. It was all one big circle that lead to nothing.

"Well, all prophets are protected by an archangel. Ask one of them. That's really all I can tell you," the prophet said sadly.

"Okay. Well, if you learn anything else—"

"I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Chuck." Without waiting for an answer, Sam hung up and buried his face in his hands. He couldn't seem to get the image of Erin lying on the ground in convulsions out of his mind. He wanted to help her; he needed to help her. She had faith in him, even when the whole world was stacked against him. It had been forever since anyone had that kind of faith in him, and he needed to help her. He needed to help her. What good was he—big bad Mr. Destiny—if he couldn't help her?

The minute that Dean saw his brother step back inside, he knew that the news wasn't good. Sam's shoulders were hunched as he stared down towards the floor, studying his shoes intently. Dean almost didn't want to ask what he had found out; if the news wasn't good, Sam was going to be heartbroken. Too many times he had lost the women that he loved or could have loved—he didn't want to watch the same thing happen again.

"What did Chuck say?" Dean asked quietly.

"The seizures aren't normal. Headaches, yes. Seizures, not so much."

"So…did he say what it could be?"

"He thinks that it must be something natural. If it were supernatural, an archangel would be able to protect her from it," Sam explained, still not meeting his brother's eyes. "The best he could offer was to ask an arch angel."

"Right. Because those are so easy to come by."

"We're about to summon one," Bobby said from the next room. "Gabriel is an archangel. I'm betting he can give us some answers.

"Then let's summon him." Sam rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the room where they had all the proper symbols drawn on the floor inside a chalk circle. To the side, there was a large knife and bowl of some strange powder. Cas stood just outside the chalk circle, his hands in his pockets. Bobby sat in the doorway, watching. "What do we need to do?"

"The symbol needs to be traced with blood. Then we add a drop of blood to the bowl and recited the proper Enochian chant," Cas explained.

"All of it has to be done in blood?" Dean asked, surprised. It wasn't a lot of blood, but it would be enough to be a pain in the ass.

"Yes. You use blood to banish them, so you must use blood to summon them."

Before Cas had even finished his sentence, Sam was already on the floor, slicing his wrist and making the symbols in blood. There was no hesitation in his movements, not one trace of doubt in his eyes. He wanted answers both about Lucifer and about Erin, and Gabriel could give him both. The blood was bright red against the faded wood of Bobby's floors. A moment later, the symbol was complete and Sam had dropped several drops of blood into the bowl. Cas began chanting.

The silence after Cas finished the chant was deafening. The room was still—no one dared to break the stillness until Dean crossed the room and grabbed his brother's wrist, trying to stop the bleeding. A few minutes later, there was a flash of bright white light in the room next door and then the angel Gabriel—messenger of God—was walking through the door.

"You called?"

"Yeah, we did. We've got a prophet upstairs who tells us that she saw a vision of you leaving us a message. A message about how to put Lucifer back in his cage. You want to tell us about that?" Dean asked, though his tone clearly said that answering the question was not optional.

` "You have a prophet? One that isn't Chuck?"

"Yes. Erin Esther Anderson. She told us that you know of another way to take care of the Lucifer situation."

"Erin Anderson?" Gabriel asked, surprised. "You have Erin Anderson? Here?"

"Yeah. She's upstairs, asleep," Sam said, confused. "This last vision took a lot out of her. In more than a slight headache kind of way. She had a full-on seizure. She says that her visions have always given her migraines. Like, the kind of migraines that knock you on your ass and don't let you leave a dark, quiet room for two or three days. I'm pretty damn sure that's not normal."

Gabriel studied them, his brow furrowed as he thought. "It's not normal. She said they've always been like that?" Sam nodded. "Prophets are all…designed for this. Her body was made to be strong enough for her to handle the visions. This has to be something supernatural."

"Prophets are protected by an archangel," Cas piped up from where he stood in the corner. "How can it be something supernatural?"

"Erin Anderson fell off the grid years ago. She would have been…four at the time, maybe."

"What do you mean 'she fell off the grid?" Dean asked, though he had a pretty good idea of what it meant.

"I mean that we keep tabs on all the prophets from the minute they're born until they finally shuffle off this mortal coil," the archangel explained. "But a few years after she was born, Erin disappeared. We couldn't find her anymore. She was there one minute, and gone the next."

"You _lost _a prophet? You _lost _her?" Sam roared in disbelief. The more he learned about the angels and their ways, the more he worried about the state of affairs up in heaven. Though, he really shouldn't be worrying about it, given that his whole "Lucifer's vessel" destiny said that he would end up elsewhere.

"And then we sent out the search and rescue team…they were just unsuccessful," Gabriel defended. "We sent angels to the last place that we had a read on her, but she was long gone. And it's really hard to find a four year old. They all sort of look the same."

"So you just let her go?" Sam voice got louder and louder as his anger grew stronger. How could Heaven just "misplace" a child? Especially one as important as Erin.

"Prophets are a dime a dozen, bucko. Besides, we didn't see any signs that demons had her. All the things that prophets saw still came to pass, unhampered by demons. There didn't appear to be any risk, so we called off the search. We don't have unlimited manpower, you know."

"Then how did Cas know about her?" Dean asked.

"We didn't tell everyone that we lost her. The search and rescue team said that they found her, and then we just kept it covered up. Not that hard really. Bureaucracy is killer no matter where you are."

"Well now you do have a problem. She's still having visions that she can't handle. You want to tell me why that's happening?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know. Let me see her and I might be able to tell you something," the angel said in frustration.

They walked up the stairs—all except Bobby, who sat at the foot of the stairway, waiting for them to return. Sam pushed open the door to the bedroom where Erin was sleeping, only to find things exactly the way he left them. Erin was still sleeping soundly, though it didn't look like a peaceful sleep. Her red hair was spilled over the pillow, her hands balled into fists. Her expression was not exactly what you would call peaceful.

"Erin?" Sam asked, going to her side. She didn't wake, but he heard a low moan instead. Gently, he shook her shoulder, trying once more to rouse her. "Erin, wake up. We brought someone to help you."

Her eyes fluttered open and she studied him drowsily in the dim morning light. Seeing the crowd of people behind him, she struggled to sit up and make herself more presentable despite the fact that it was clearly causing her pain. She instinctively reached up to make sure that her clothes were in place and nothing was exposed.

"Did you ask good ol' Gabe here about Lucifer's cage?" she whispered.

"Not yet. He's here to look at you and see if we can figure out what's wrong with you," Sam answered quietly. She nodded and slipped her hand into his as everyone else moved in closer to her.

"So…what exactly are you going to do?"

Gabriel stepped forward. "Well, you fell off our grid when you were four years old. The only thing that can do that is Enochian shielding marks that would be branded on you somewhere."

"I have the ones that Cas made a few days ago."

"No, these would be older."

Seeing Erin's confusion, Sam got an idea. "Do you have any weird scars from when you were a kid?"

She thought about it for a minute and nodded. Pushing back the covers, she pulled her socks off and showed them the bottom of her foot. There was a small Enochian mark in the center, the same mark that Cas had branded into her ribs. "My dad said it was from me stepping on some broken glass when I was three."

"Well, Daddy lied," Gabriel said, studying her foot. "I think perhaps we should pay him a visit."

"Maybe he didn't know," she replied, instinctively taking up for her father.

"I hate to tell you this sweetheart, but I can feel traces of magic all over you. And Daddy is prime suspect number one."

"That can't be right."

"Erin, I hate to say it, but it makes sense," Sam said gently. "You fall off the grid at age four. Your parents would have full access to you. Your father "prayed" for you to be a prophet. Your visions got worse when you went home to him, correct?" She nodded. "Everything points that way. We'll go check it out. If it's nothing, then we've just cleared your dad."

She drew a deep breath and pushed herself up off the bed. She was weak and wobbly, but managed to stand. She looked at Sam, who was still holding her hand in his. "You'll be with me?"

"Every step of the way."

"What about the apocalypse?" she asked quietly.

"It's not really going anywhere," he answered.

"Okay. Let's go."


	6. Road Tripping

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who put this story on alert or added it to their favorites. That makes my day. On a semi-unrelated note, I finally saw the episode "Changing Channels" the other day and it made me smile. Anyway, if you read, please review!

**Nelle07-**I was totally picturing Sam's puppy dog face when I wrote that line. I'm glad that someone else imagined it that way, too.

**UniqueMe-**I absolutely love Cas's moments of extreme literal-ness, and couldn't help but include one. I'm glad you liked it, and thanks for the review! Hopefully, this chapter will help answer some of your questions and maybe pose a few more.

**You'reWrongI'mRight-**With your review, you pretty much summed up how I feel about Sam. I'm hoping that this chapter causes a few more "awww" moments.

**Mary_Izzy_Dakota-**It's awesome that you're liking the story. Thank you so much for the compliment. They keep me going. =)

* * *

Erin struggled to climb out of bed. Her head was buzzing, a tiny voice in the back of her head practically screaming at her to get back in the bed, to let Sam and Dean handle it, to just go back to sleep. But she couldn't allow it. She had to show them that it wasn't her father who was doing this to her, that it must be someone else. Her duffel was already packed—Dean had brought it in for her—and her car keys were in the car. It didn't matter that her knees were wobbly or that she was dizzy as hell. What mattered was proving her father's innocence.

"Erin, you should get back in bed—" Dean started.

"This is my father we're talking about. You're basically telling me that you think that the man who is at least partially responsible for raising me is doing this. What kind of father would do this to his own daughter?" she demanded.

"The same father that would hide you from Heaven's protection."

"Maybe he had a good reason for that! I mean, you and Sam have been hidden from Heaven—"

"That's different—"

"How is that different? You don't want the great 'gift' of being Michael's vessel…well, not anymore anyway. Maybe he was hoping that my visions would be..." She trailed off, realizing that what she was saying made no sense. Her father had prayed for her to become a prophet. He had asked for God's blessing on her. So why would he want to hide her from the angels, the enforcers of Fate? Frustrated, she wobbled towards the door in a huff. "Let's just go."

She tried to storm out the room, but the fact that she nearly collapsed at the top of the stairs put a damper on her dramatic exit. When Sam rushed to her side in an attempt to help her, she swatted at him and almost lost her balance once more. Instead of letting the younger Winchester help her down the stairs, she employed the sit and scoot method; she sat on the step and then scooted down to the next step until she reached the bottom of the stairs. If not for the whole "something is seriously wrong with Erin" part, the situation would have been quite humorous.

"Erin, c'mon. Let me help—" Sam started, walking beside her the whole way down the stairs.

"I'm fine—" Except that she wasn't. Even as she spoke and tried to stand, she got weak in the knees and fell back down to the floor. Sam caught her. "Please don't—"

"Erin, let me help you to the car and we'll get moving."

"Thanks, Sam, but I've got it. If you can grab my bag, I'll meet you in the car."

He nodded, knowing that this was the only offer he was going to get her to accept. She continued wobbling through the living room while Sam and Dean got their stuff together. Cas was standing beside the Impala, waiting patiently for the boys to come out. Erin pulled herself into the back seat of the car, and a few minutes later, Sam was sitting in the passenger seat, Dean in the driver's seat.

"Are you crazy kids ready for a road trip?" Dean asked obnoxiously, eyeing the two others that he was sharing the car with. He gave Sam that suggestive look that clearly said "you should be in the back seat with Erin." Sam just stared back at him, clearly not liking the implied suggestion. Erin just rolled her eyes and settled in with her head resting against the window. She was asleep shortly thereafter.

"Do you really think that her father is doing this to her?" Sam asked his brother.

"We've seen family do worse. Do you remember that couple that was going to sacrifice their niece? I hope he's not the one, but he's the best candidate."

"Yeah, I know." Dean couldn't help but notice how tired his brother sounded or how upset he was about Erin's situation. Since he found out that he was Lucifer's vessel, Sam had been pushing himself harder and harder, trying to find some redemption. Maybe Erin was his chance. But right now, Sam was too exhausted to be of any help to her.

"You should get some sleep. It's a long drive to Oklahoma. I'll wake you up in a few hours and let you drive." Sam just nodded and followed Erin's lead, resting his head against the window and trying to get some sleep. "You know, you would be able to stretch out more in the back seat," Dean teased. Sam chose not to take the bait and instead finally let his eyes close so he could get some sleep.

It felt like just a few minutes later when Dean was shaking Sam awake. They were stopped at a gas station, filling up the car. Erin was still asleep in the backseat. Sam pulled himself out of the car and stretched his tall frame. Being squished in the front seat of the car was not exactly conducive to being pain free. Never mind the fact that he had to pee.

"Erin," he whispered, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up." She began to stir, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She took in the scene around her, found that they were stopped, and immediately climbed out of the car to stretch.

"You might want to go to the bathroom while we're here," Dean said, a tired grin on his face. She nodded and disappeared into the gas station. Five minutes later, they were all back in the car in their new seating arrangements, ready to go. Dean was stretched out across the back seat, Erin in the front passenger seat, and Sam was driving. Another five minutes later and Dean was asleep.

"Are you sure that you're okay to drive?" she asked. "How much sleep did you get?"

"I'll sleep when we get where we're going. You can't drive because you might have a seizure. Dean needs to sleep, so you're stuck with me."

"There are worse people to be stuck with."

He smiled. She loved to see him smile. In too many of her visions she had seen him crying or cringing. The worst one had been when she watched him hold his brother's torn, mutilated body in his arms, sobbing. She remembered the self-destructive streak he had been on after his brother's death—the reckless fights, the drinking, the women—and it had broken her heart. She had come out of so many visions with tears streaming down her cheeks because she saw the pain that he was in. So when she got to see him smile, it was golden.

"So…here we are…back in the car for another long ride…again," she said, staring out the window.

"You should go back to sleep. You didn't get that much, you know," he told her, concerned.

"I'm okay. Besides, I would hate to sleep through out adventure. I've seen too many Winchester adventures, and now's my chance to be a part of one." There was a bitter edge to her voice, and Sam knew full well that she would rather not be part of a Winchester adventure.

"I'm sorry about all this. I know that you would rather be doing something else right now, but we will find out what's going on and then you'll be able to go back to living a fairly normal life."

"As normal as I'll ever be with your life flashing before my eyes," she commented. "And you'll be back to chasing across the country trying to put Lucifer back in his cage. Clearly, normal is relative."

"What will you do? Get married? Have the typical 2.3 kids?"

She laughed bitterly as she glanced at Sam, her face full of conflicting emotions. She had a skeptical expression on her face—complete with arched eyebrows. But he could also see the tears in her eyes and the firm set of her mouth. She was trying desperately not to cry and wasn't doing a very good job of covering it up. Immediately, he regretted asking the questions.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business," he said apologetically.

"No, it's okay. It's just there aren't a whole lot of opportunities for someone like—someone with my condition. I mean, whatever this is…what if it doesn't go away? I can't do a whole lot. I mean, I'm getting migraines once a week that knock me on my ass for two days. No one is going to hire me, and I can tell you right now that invalids aren't sexy."

"Well…well maybe you haven't met the right invalid yet," Sam said shyly.

"Trust me, seizures don't exactly have people rushing to get my number. It makes me a freak. But I'm used to it; I don't need kids. Maybe I'll just join a convent. Get me to a nunnery."

"A nunnery? I just don't know that you would be happy there. They have some pretty strict wardrobe rules, and they don't include leather jackets…or…you know, male company." Again Sam sounded shy.

"You're worried about me missing out on male company?"

_Not all males_, Sam thought. _Just me. _

"Well, I haven't had any up to this point in my life, and I've been just fine without it. I'm sure I'll be just fine without a boyfriend or husband or whatever. It just causes drama anyway," she continued. Erin was smiling, but he could tell that it was forced. For whatever the reason, she was trying to make him believe that everything was okay. She was trying to keep him from pitying her. She could take a lot of things, but pity was not one of them. So instead of pity, he went for shock.

"You've never…had a boyfriend?" he asked skeptically. His shock wasn't really that much of a stretch. She was beautiful and smart, and had a pretty wicked sense of humor. Someone should have been able to appreciate that.

She smiled a self-mocking smile. "In high school, no one wanted to date the preacher's daughter. And then in college, there weren't a whole lot of people interesting in dating someone who was saving herself for marriage. Then, once the seizures started, I never had time to date or worry about that sort of thing because I was too busy hoping that my brain wasn't leaking out my ears."

Sam tried to keep his expression under control as the words "never had a boyfriend" and "I haven't had any up to this point in my life" began to make sense in another way altogether. It suddenly screamed "I'm still a virgin." He tried to keep his eyes on the road and not stare at her. Plenty of people made that choice with their lives.

"Ah, and you're realizing right now that I'm still all pure as the driven, virginal snow. It's not…it's not a big deal. Plenty of people are virgins. It's nothing to be ashamed of," she said defensively.

"I'm not saying you should be. I was just surprised, that's all. I mean, even before the visions started…?"

"I wasn't exactly the same girl then. I was a bit of a wallflower."

Sam smiled at her, trying to imagine the woman sitting next to him as a wallflower. She was wearing the same skinny jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket that she had first put on the day that he had met her. Despite her own jacket and the heat running full blast, she was still curled up underneath Sam's jacket. He remembered her lecture to Dean about checking out of the apocalypse, and knew that there was no way a wallflower would be able to stand up to his brother. Dean could be pretty intimidating when he wanted to be. But still. Even if she had been a wallflower, how had someone not noticed her? How had someone not wanted to talk to her? How had they not seen her strength?

"Well, you're not anymore."

"Yeah, well, we all have to grow up sometime…" She trailed off, looking uncertain for the first time since they got in the car. There was a question she was itching to ask, but couldn't bring herself to do so. Drawing a deep breath, she finally just asked it. "Is it alright if I…"

He saw her eyeing his shoulder and then it clicked. She wanted to lean on him. He couldn't keep himself from smiling. She might not have been the same wallflower she was, but clearly, when it came to men, she was still very timid. Sam draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled. He was warm and strong and comforting.

Comfort. They weren't even there yet, and she already had a feeling that no matter what they found, it wasn't going to be good. At the very least, her father had lied to her. At the worst, he was the one who was somehow causing her seizures. Maybe he was trying to kill her. She wasn't sure, but she knew that she wasn't excited about getting to Tulsa.

"Do you really think that my dad could be doing this to me?" Erin whispered.

Sam's arm tightened around her. "It's a possibility that we have to face. I know it's hard, but we will find out what's happening to you. We'll stop the seizures, and you'll be fine."

"And if it means you have to kill my father?" she asked in a small voice.

He was silent for a long while, not wanting to answer her. He didn't want to tell her that he would kill her father. He would kill him in a minute if it meant finding a way for her to be safe. She had done too much for him—she had saved his brother, she had found another way for them to stop the apocalypse—and he was not going to let that kindness go unreturned. Maybe killing her father wasn't much of an act of kindness, but he was going to stop her pain.

Finally, he saw the exit and got off the highway. Her felt her hand tighten around his arm and knew that she was anxious.

"We're almost there," he said, his voice loud enough to wake his brother in the back seat. Dean stirred, sitting up and looking around them. When he saw Erin leaning against his brother in the front seat, he smiled. In any other situation, he would have teased his brother relentlessly. But they were on the way to potentially kill this girl's father, and none of them were feeling particularly humorous.

"We should go to the church," she whispered. "He's always at the church right now."

Sam nodded silently and began following the directions that Erin gave him. Dean sat in the back seat, trying to think about all the possibilities they could be facing. It was possible that it could be a shapeshifter taking the shape of her father, but that didn't really explain the Enochian mark she had acquired as a child. Gabe had said there was magic all over her; to cause the damage it was causing it would have to be powerful magic. This meant witches or maybe her father was demon-possessed.

When they finally pulled up in front of the church, Erin was slow to get out. She came to stand beside Sam, her hand intertwined with his. Dean pulled an array of weapons from the trunk and redistributed them to Sam and Erin. There were silver knives, salt-loaded shotguns, their small pistols with cast-iron bullets, salt and holy water. They had it all.

Before they stepped through the back door of the church, Sam turned to look at Erin. She was still a bit wobbly and clearly exhausted. "You don't have to come. You can stay here and we'll handle it."

"No. He's my father. I have to be there. Besides, he could be innocent."

Sam nodded solemnly and turned towards the door. Before he pushed the door open, he kissed her lightly on the forehead. The, with a terse nod, they pushed the door open and stepped into the church.

Inside, there was chanting in a language that she didn't recognize. They crept closer to the sanctuary doors, peeking in through a window. Erin saw her father standing naked at the front of the sanctuary, drinking a red liquid that looked horribly like blood out of a bowl covered in occult symbols. There were herbs and candles on the altar.

"Hate to say this, but Daddy dearest is doing some seriously dark magic in there," Dean muttered under his breath.

Erin stood there in silence, horror on her face. Sam squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Suddenly, pain was tearing through Erin's skull. She tried quietly lie down to avoid drawing attention to them, but instead, she fell into Sam's arms in convulsions. It wasn't like any other vision she had had. There was no vision. Instead, she was very aware of some of her congregation members closing in on them as Dean desperately tried to fight them off. Sam had pulled Erin into his arms and was trying to fight his way through the crowd to get her out of there. He stopped at the door, her father blocking the way.

"There you are, Erin. I've been waiting for you."


	7. Blood and Live Porn

Sam tightened his arms around Erin, knowing that nothing good was about to come out of this. He knew that she was weak—seizures would do that to a person—which meant that fighting back wasn't really an option for her. Dean fired his shot gun loaded with rock salt into the crowd of people, trying to keep them at bay. It wouldn't do any lasting damage; it would just hurt like hell and maybe slow them down enough for them to get away. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be making that much of _a difference._

"Sam get her out of he—" Dean stopped yelling to his brother when he saw Erin's father standing before them. Erin was too weak to get up and move herself. It wasn't that she wasn't trying—she tried to push herself up off the floor, only to fall back into Sam's arms. He caught her and pulled her to her feet, but she was struggling too much to stand on her own. He couldn't support her and fight too.

"Daddy?" she whispered, staring up at her father, and suddenly noticing the huge knife in his hand. As far as knives went, it was probably the last on that she wanted to run up against. The blade was six inches long and double-edged; one side was serrated, and the other was sleek and shard. Either way, she didn't want to get near either side.

Sam could see the confusion on her face and hear it in her voice. But there was also an underlying hint of sadness. She still pictured her father as the strong, protective man he had been when she was younger—the one that picked her up off the pavement when she fell and scraped her knee, or the man who had tucked her into bed at night. But she was wrong. Her father wasn't a kindly man—at best he was a psycho who had been doing black magic, a worst he was a man who had been doing black magic, causing her seizures, and was now trying to kill her and two other people.

They were surrounded. Dean stood over Sam and Erin, trying to keep an eye on both the crowd of people trying to attack them and the giant knife in Erin's father's hand. Sam was mostly focused on the way that Erin's father was staring at her—with a strange, almost reverent gleam in his eye. It didn't sit well with him, and it sure as hell wasn't a very good sign.

"Any bright ideas?" Dean whispered. Sam shook his head.

"Use the guns with actual bullets?" Erin answered acerbically.

"They could be under some kind of mind-control curse or something. We can't kill innocent people," Dean hissed.

"I know that you aren't really worried about dying because the angels will keep sending you back until you fulfill your destiny or whatever, but I don't really have that luxury and I would really prefer to not get killed right now," Erin snapped. Well, it would have been a snap if she didn't sound quite so sluggish or tired.

Sam eyed his brother, knowing that they were right. He also had a very strong suspicion that preacher-man—Matthew Elijah Anderson, according to the sign out front—wasn't really too concerned about them. They were just the two idiots who had delivered Erin right into his hands. It was Erin that he wanted, and judging from the altar at the front of the sanctuary, he didn't want to invite his daughter to dinner.

"Erin, I hadn't heard from you in a few days. I was worried," her father finally said. Erin rolled her eyes and looked over at the altar.

"I see that. So worried that once you got me back, you didn't want me to leave." Sam could tell that speaking was hurting her. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and she was forcing the words out as quietly as she possibly could. The sounds were bouncing around inside her skull, echoing and creating chaos and causing her pain.

"The world is a dangerous place, and I thought that with your condition something may have happened to you." His voice was sincere. It was the same voice that had captivated church-goers for years. Everything about his body language—made all the more clear by the fact that he was, oh, naked—was emphasizing his sincerity. He held his arms out to his daughter, he looked concerned. If it weren't for the dark magic and the altar and the slight case of nudity, he would have been believable.

Sam studied Erin's face and could tell that she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that her father wanted the best for her, and that this was all some sort of horrible nightmare. But she had seen enough. There had been something in his eyes and the way that he had said "I've been waiting for you"—like someone out of a terrible B-movie—that definitely said he was not someone that was looking out for her welfare.

This realization came to her, and then all her sadness was gone. Instead, there was anger. It was the kind of irrational anger that grabs someone and holds them tight until they explode in a fit of equally irrational action. It was the sort of anger that started riots or pushed people to kill celebrities. It was the kind of anger that inspired Sam to reach into his jacket pocket, pull out a pistol, and shoot Matthew Elijah Anderson three times in the stomach.

The pastor jerked several times before dropping to the floor. Erin flinched and shrieked at the loud blasting that would leave her ears ringing for the next few hours. As soon as Matthew's body hit the floor, Sam glanced over his shoulder at Dean. For a split second, Dean looked almost shocked. The look of almost shock became a look of complete shock when Matthew rose from the floor.

"Those were the real bullets, right?" Dean asked.

"Consecrated wrought iron," Sam replied quietly.

"You're shitting me, right? Werewolf or shape shifter, do you think?"

There was no time to have any further conversation before the crowd closed in on them once again, pulling at Sam and Dean. They weren't trying to hurt the boys, just pull them away from Erin, who was struggling to her feet. It was only when Sam started to truly fight back—to break noses and bash heads—that they really got violent.

"Not mindless drones!" Sam called.

"Got that. Cult members?"

"I'm sure. And my money says shape shifter."

Dean grunted and furiously threw punched one of his assailants in the face. "I figured," he said with a frustrated sigh. "Damn shape shifters."

"Let me go!" Sam heard Erin screaming. He looked over to see Erin's father dragging her towards the altar at the front of the church. She was doing the best she could to put up a fight, but the effort was futile. She was tired and exhausted and mostly dead weight—she just didn't weigh enough to be much of a problem.

"Erin!" As he called her name, something hit him across the back, sending him falling to the floor. He felt blood trickling down his back, and pain like fire spreading between his shoulders. It wasn't a stab wound, and since he was in pain, he knew that he didn't have any nerve damage from the slash. Behind him, Dean wasn't having much better luck. He had a gash across his chest that was probably going to need stitches. There were three different men—all of them bigger than him—holding him back. Before Sam could get back to his feet, they were on him too, holding him tight.

"Let me go, you son of a _bitch_!" she groaned. She kicked at the creature, but the kicks fell short, completely missing. Matthew motioned for some of his henchmen to come to the front of the church. They helped to pull both her jacket and Sam's off of her, and hold her down while he took the knife and ran it along her stomach and slipped it underneath her shirt. She was too weak to even flinch.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Sam asked. Of course, he knew what Matthew—if that was even his real name—was doing; he was about to sacrifice Erin to some pagan god or goddess. But he needed to buy some time. "She's a prophet. You prayed for this. Why would you kill your daughter when you prayed for her to be a prophet? You got what you wanted."

"I didn't pray for this," Matthew answered as he sliced through her shirt. "I imagine that her father probably didn't either. I didn't really ask him."

Erin's eyes widened. "What did you do to my dad?"

"Oh, please. You don't even remember your dear old dad. I've been around since you were a little tyke." He slid the knife under the waistband of her jeans and began to cut them off. She crossed her legs—which might as well have been limp spaghetti noodles—trying to keep him from pulling her pants off, but it did no good. The pants were gone shortly.

"Since I was three…the scar…"

"Yeah, that. You're a prophet, which makes you invaluable to me. But the whole "archangel appears to protect you" part was awfully inconvenient."

"So you killed her dad, took his shape, and hid her from the angels," Dean finished, answering his own question. "You wanted a prophet to sacrifice to whoever the hell it is that you worship. Why the hell did you wait so long?"

"You don't just summon gods all willy-nilly, particularly Set. You have to wait until the time is right. And the time is right now. It was amazing how easy it was to turn this church into what it is now. Your father really did all the work, Erin. He had them eating up anything and everything I said. So when I told them that I had a vision that we were to make a sacrifice of one of our children—like Abraham did—they took it very well. They were relieved that it wasn't their child, and then they were ecstatic that a god would be appearing to them…if we made the right sacrifice. And a twenty-six year old virgin prophetess…you don't get a better sacrifice than that."

Sam's mind was whirling a million miles a minute. Faux-Matthew had Erin tied up and had cut off the remnants of her undergarments. She was looking more and more terrified with each passing moment, and more and more terrified. Sam looked over at his brother, who was looking equally as desperate. Then it hit him.

In order to save Erin, Sam had to offer fake-preacher a better sacrifice. And he was perfect. He was Lucifer's vessel. The angels had made it perfectly clear when they ejected him from heaven that he had a role to play and they weren't going to let him stay dead until he had fulfilled his destiny. So if he died, he wasn't necessarily going to stay that way.

"Wait. I can give you something better," Sam shouted. Dean stared at his brother for a moment until Sam clarified his statement. "I'm better. If you're in the know—which I'm sure that you are—you know that I'm Lucifer's vessel. I'm supposed to be the vessel of one of the most powerful beings in the universe. It doesn't get much better than that."

Matthew seemed to consider the offer for a moment. In those moments, Erin stared at him, her eyes pleading. She struggled against her bonds, but they held firmly. "Sam, no—"

"That's a great offer, actually, but there's one problem with that. The great god Set has to be born into this world. You're a man. You can't exactly give birth."

Then the rest of the pieces fell into place. He wasn't going to kill her. He was going to force himself on her and get her pregnant so that she could give birth to his god. She seemed to understand this, too, making her horror and fear much more intense.

"Please don't. Please," Erin whispered. Matthew stopped for a moment and studied Erin, then Sam—taking them in. Then he smiled—it was a sick, awful, playful smile. Sam's skin began to crawl in disgust and horror, unsure of the sick ideas running through Matthew's mind.

"You're perfect. You're—how did you put it? "The intended vessel of one of the most powerful beings in the universe." You and Erin would be the perfect power couple. And Set will have plenty of energy to feed on as he comes into this world. Bring the boy on down. Give him his chance to show us how manly he is."

They started dragging Sam down towards the altar, and he was still, waiting for one of them to loosen their grip enough for him to get free. He had thought that this would happen when they tried to pull his clothes off but, like they had with Erin, they simply sliced them off. One of his many pistols fell out of his pocket with a loud thump on the floor. Their captors ignored it.

Dean didn't ignore it. Erin didn't ignore it. Sam sure as hell didn't ignore it.

"No! Leave him alone. Please, don't make him do this…"

Sam looked at Erin and realized exactly what she was doing. _Play along_, he told himself. Dean clearly got the message, too.

"How come it seems like all your pagan rituals demand either a human sacrifice or some sick voyeuristic porno thing? I mean, seems like to me this is all an excuse to watch live porn. You can do that in Mexico for next to nothing, I hear," Dean said from the floor where he was being held.

Matthew cut his eyes at Dean. "Aren't you the funny one?" he said sarcastically. He eyed Sam, who was struggling unsuccessfully to get away from his captors, who were trying to force him on top of Erin. "Come on now, boy. I know how attractive you must find her. She is a beauty. Now get on with it."

"Please don't. Please…" Erin was begging with so much melodrama that Sam was sure it would blow the whole plan, but the shape shifter didn't even seem to notice.

"Sam, c'mon man…you can't seriously…" Dean was yelling, but Sam tried to block him out. He knew that Erin was understanding their unspoken plan, but he still felt awful. He willed her to understand, to know that he didn't want to even pretend that he was going to actually do this, but if it would get them out of there alive…

Sam looked fake-Matthew square in the eye. "I'll do it. But I have some conditions."

Matthew nodded, a smile on his face. "Proceed."

"Erin's seizures. How and why?"

"It's black magic. It works by essentially picking up on the "frequency" of the visions and interacting with it. When the black magics mix with the angel communications, they caused the seizures. And of course, I can use a doll to trigger them whenever I want. This was a great way of ensuring that my little Erin Esther stayed as pure as the driven snow when she left my tender loving care."

"How did you know she was a prophet?" Sam asked.

"Even angels have a breaking point. Poor little thing broke after a few days and told me everything. Where the prophets lived, who they were….all of it."

"So you wanted a prophet to give birth to your god? Why?"

"There's just something ironic about an instrument of heaven giving birth to the pagan god that's going to topple their structure."

"Set is the god of chaos," Erin whispered, making the realization. "I guess I can appreciate the irony. I'd appreciate it more if it didn't mean that I was the one getting _violated_!"

"Now, I've answered enough questions," faux-Matthew said. "You hold up your end of the bargain."

Sam nodded and leaned in to kiss Erin. It was a gentle kiss on the cheek, followed by another gentle kiss on the forehead. She had seen him kiss Jess this way in several of her visions, but no vision could quite capture the way it felt to be on the receiving end. She knew that he was doing it to keep her safe, to make her father—no, not her father. A shape shifter who looked like him—believe that he was going to follow through with his promise, but it still made her feel so safe, despite the fact that she was tied down on an altar.

"Sam, stop. You can't do this! She hasn't done anything to deserve this…" Dean was still yelling and carrying on. Matthew turned and looked at Dean, sighing in frustration. This gave Sam the window he needed to reach down, grab the pistol that had fallen to the floor, and fire three shots into Matthew's chest. Two of them tore straight through his heart. He fell to the floor and, this time, didn't get up.

The rest of the church, however, did. Immediately, they sprang into action trying to finish the ritual without their leader. The problem was, none of them knew how to do it. So everything quickly descended into fits of violence and mayhem. Erin struggled against her bonds, Sam was trying to untie her while simultaneously fighting off members of the congregation. Dean was fighting with one hand and on the phone with the other, trying to call in Cas for reinforcements.

"Close your eyes!" Dean shouted. Erin clamped her eyes closed and hoped that this wasn't some crazy scheme that wasn't going to work. Sam closed his eyes, but continued swinging wildly, trying to keep everyone away from him and Erin. A bright light filled the sanctuary and all movement stopped.

"Alright, you can open your eyes now, bucko."

The familiar voice of Gabriel rang through the room. Immediately, Erin opened her eyes and sat up, trying to cover herself. Sam did something similar, and Dean turned away from the naked pair at the front of the church. All around them, people were frozen in place. One man was frozen with his hand clamped down on Dean's arm, another with his foot a few inches from Erin's face. Standing at the back of the room was Gabriel and Cas.

"It's about time you got here. They could have killed us!" Sam roared, taking Erin into his arms.

"But they didn't. Besides, if you haven't learned by now that death isn't permanent, it's never going to get through that thick skull of yours," Gabriel answered.

"It is permanent for her!" Sam snapped, tightening his arms around Ering, who had pulled on Sam's jacket to cover her nudity.

"She's not dead. Not a hair on her head was harmed."

"Hair doesn't have feeling, so it couldn't have been harmed…oh, right. You mean that she is alright," Cas said.

Everyone rolled their eyes. Some things would never change.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, here it is. Another chapter. Hopefully you all got some answers that you were looking for. If you read, please review. I hate to beg, but I am a little anxious about this chapter. Sometimes things make sense in my head and then I get them on paper and realize that they don't. But anyway, it would be really nice to get more than two reviews this time. But a huge huge thank you to **Nelle07 **and **You'reWrongI'mRight** for the reviews on the last chapter. **You'reWrongI'mRight**, I hope the whole shapeshifter thing makes her father being an asshole a little bit better. I couldn't have a parent actually try to do that to their child. It was too assholish, even for me.

Anyway, please review and thanks for reading!


	8. Damsels

**Author's Note: **So, clearly, I haven't been able to update this story as much as I would like. So, I'm sorry for the delay. At the same time, I think I feel less urgency to update because I don't think people have as much of an attachment to this one as some of my other Supernatural stories. Anyway, please read and review and let me know what you think. Please? =)

**pgccubsfan-**I'm sorry this update took so long. I'm glad that you're liking Erin. I feel like Sam has so much against him, he needs someone to help him out on the support front. Thanks for the reivew!

**DanniMitchell85-**Yeah, Sam and Erin might have a little hang-up about what they were nearly forced to do. But they're both pretty tough, so we'll see where it goes. Thanks for the review and the support on all my stories!

**Nelle07-**Team Sam and Erin? I definitely like that. It has a nice ring to it. Thanks for the support and I'm so sorry for the slow updates!

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Sam was naked. He had wrapped Erin in his coat—the only piece of his clothing that hadn't been completely destroyed. He had been naked before—in the privacy of his own bathroom, usually—but never had he felt so exposed. His brother has averted his eyes out of respect. That made it even worse, because he wanted some sense of normalcy, even if that normalcy is his brother's shit-eating grin. Cas was staring at him straight on, clearly not understanding this issue of modesty. Gabriel, too, had looked away, though he was smiling at the awkwardness of the whole thing. There was silence for a long time before Erin finally spoke.

"Cas…can Sam have your coat?"

Cas nodded and pulled his coat off. Sam slid it on, and it strained across the width of his chest and shoulders. Thankfully, it hung to his knees and covered his nakedness. It was only after he covered himself that Dean looked at him again. After another long silence, Erin spoke again.

"We should go. I, um, I don't want to be here when the cops show up."

Dean nodded and began to walk out the church. Cas followed suit, leave Gabriel standing and staring at the awkward couple at the front of the church. Erin was sitting on the altar, trying to push her headache to the back of her mind so that she could find the strength to stand. Sam stared at her, trying to decide if he should offer to help, or if she even wanted his help. But then he looked at her face; she didn't want to ask—she was almost afraid to ask.

"Do you…I can help you, if you want."

"That would be great. Don't quite have my strength back yet."

Sam held out his hand and she took it. She pulled herself to her feet very slowly; sudden movements made her nauseous. He could see her knees wobbling, and he stepped closer so that she could wrap an arm around his wast to hold herself up. His body was warm against her—a welcome change from the chilly air of the room. Carefully, they made their way out of the sanctuary.

Dean was waiting in the foyer with a duffel bag in his hand. Inside were new clothes for Sam and Erin. Sam didn't bother to go to a less open space. He slid his jeans on under the too small trench coat, before stripping it off and donning a shirt. Erin did something similar, but she couldn't get her hands to stop shaking long enough to button the pants. Sam dropped to his knees and buttoned them for her. She pulled on a large t-shirt—one of Sam's—and was ready to go.

"Are you comin' or are we gonna have to wait all day?" Dean asked, trying to find some normalcy. Sam smiled half-heartedly and Erin very nearly stopped shaking. They slid into the backseat of the Impala, though Sam was careful not to touch her.

"Where's Cas and Gabriel?" Erin asked.

"They were going to take care of some stuff. They'll meet us whenever we stop. Speaking of, where are we going?"

"Let's get out of Tulsa, please," Erin said quietly. Dean nodded and began to drive. They didn't' really have a direction, but Dean drove anyway, Blue Oyster Cult playing quietly in the background. The city flew by and gave way to flat grassland that went on for miles and miles. Erin spent the whole time staring out the window, trying not to cry. She tries to be angry, but it just won't stick. It was tainted with sadness and bitterness at the whole situation.

Sam was silent as well, trying to think of any way that he could possibly make this right with Erin. He knew that it was awful, what he had done to Erin; yes, it was part of their cover to save her. Yes, it had worked. Yes, they were safe. But now she had the images of him about to do the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Of him on top of her…He felt sick just thinking about it.

Dean was trying to put them at ease by singing loudly and obnoxiously in the front seat. The music went from being quiet background music to being the main soundtrack of their trip. His singing had to be intentionally bad, because there is no way that anyone could sing that badly without trying. "C'mon baby! Don't fear the reaper! C'moooonnn ba-by! Don't fear the reaper!"

The irony of a hunter singing "Don't Fear the Reaper" was not lost on them, and a strangled sound—half laugh, half sob—escaped Erin's throat.

It was dark when they finally pulled off the road and Dean pulled into an out of the way, dumpy-looking motel. Sam and Erin were too lost in thought to comment on it. It was better than trying to find somewhere that was even slightly reputable because they were bound to draw attention to themselves with the blood and bruises that covered them from head to toe. Both boys were probably going to need stitches, and Erin had a wicked looking bruise on her cheek.

"I'll get the room. You get the stuff…and our damsel," Dean ordered teasingly. Erin's smile looked more like a grimace than a sincere smile. Sam just nodded quietly. Normally, Dean's orders were obnoxious, but for now it was nice to not have to think about it. He slipped out of the car and pulled their stuff from the trunk. Erin tried to be help, but she ended up leaning against the side of the Impala and trying not to fall.

When Dean came back with the key, Sam started to move towards Erin. She looked at him with wide, unreadable eyes. When he tried to help her stand, he felt her flinch. She managed not to start trembling, but just barely. Immediately, Sam recoiled and Erin hated herself. She had hurt him, damnit.

"Can you…could you help me?" she asked timidly

"Do you want me to or are you just trying to soothe my feelings?" As soon as he spoke, he regretted it.

"No…I—it's okay. I'll –I can do it," she whispered. Sam nodded and grabbed the bags, but even then, he was looking over his shoulder, making sure that she was okay. It was a long, slow-going process, but eventually—with some help from Dean—she made it into their room.

"We got you a separate room. It's the conjoined one, right next door," Dean told her. She nodded, but didn't move from where she had collapsed onto the bed.

"I'll get there in just a minute," she whispered. "You need to get stitched up." And then she was asleep.

"She's not wrong. We need to get stitched up," Dean said.

"You want to go first? You're bleeding worse."

"You can't tell. Yours is on your back. But sure, I'll go first." The older brother pulled his shirt over his head with a wince and laid down on the bed. Sam went to work with his pen knife and sewing kit, adding a little bit of whiskey every now and again to keep it from getting infected. When he was finished, they switched places. Even as Dean was stitching him up, Sam thinking. Finally, when Dean was finished, he sat up and looked at his brother.

"We need a plan," he said plainly.

"We go after Pestilence and Death, get their rings, and put Lucifer back in his cage. That's what we do. It's pretty straight forward," Dean answered, taking a swig of the whiskey.

"I mean…about Erin. What are we going to do with Erin?"

"We can't make her do anything. We told her that we would try to help her fix her problem. With shifto-dad out of the way, her problem is solved. I mean, it would be nice to have a prophet on call, so we could put her up at Bobby's. He'll be able to make sure she doesn't get herself into any trouble, and when she has a vision, he can call us."

"Yeah…Ideally," Sam said thoughtfully. "That's best."

"But you don't like this plan…"

"No, it's a good plan. It's what we should do. I just—you might have to convince her to do this. She's not going to like it. Especially not coming from me."

"So _I'm _the one that needs to convince her?"

"She isn't going to listen to me. Did you see the way she was looking at me? It's not—"

"Sam, she's had a long day. A long, traumatic, "Daddy was going to try to rape her" day. She'll come around. Now let's hit the sack. We can call Bobby in the morning and hammer out the details." Dean took another shot of whiskey and put himself to bed. Sam looked over and saw Erin passed out on what was supposed to be his bed. Instead of waking her, he went to the room next door and crawled into bed. He didn't sleep. Instead, he stared at the ceiling for hours, trying to get the image Erin's face starting at him with wide, scared eyes out of his mind.

Around three in the morning, he heard the whimpers and moans from the other room. Pushing the covers aside, he climbed from the bed and walked into the other room, where he found Dean sleeping peacefully. Erin, however, was not. She was crying in her sleep and mumbling incoherently, but he could tell that they weren't tears of joy. Quietly, he crept across the room and gently shook her awake.

"Erin. Erin," he whispered. "Erin, you're having a—"

She grabbed his wrist in a vise-like grip, cutting him off. Her eyes were wide with fear again, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if that was the nightmare, of it that was from her realizing that it was him. After a moment, she let go of his arm and pushed past him into the bathroom in the other room. He should let her go, he knew, but he couldn't. Not when she looked like she was about to fall to pieces.

He pulled the door closed behind him, making sure that they wouldn't wake Dean. He heard the water running in bathroom, and found her splashing water on her face. Her hands were shaking and she could barely keep on her feet. He could tell that she was still weak from the seizure, but he was too afraid to touch her. Unable to keep herself upright, she slid to the bathroom floor. He kneeled beside her but didn't touch.

"You woke me up," she whispered.

"Yeah. You were having a nightmare. It didn't seem right to let it keep going on…"

She was shivering, almost violently, and it made his heart ache. He had hoped that Dean was right, that her fear would fade. But here she was, shaking on the bathroom floor in front of him. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to get them to stop shaking.

"I-I'm cold. Could you…I-I can you help me up?" she whispered, finally looking at Sam. He nodded and carefully helped her to her feet. She leaned heavily on him as he helped her into bed. She climbed into the bed he had been sleeping in. She turned on her side and stared at Sam, who was kneeling beside the bed.

"Thank you…for waking me up. And for helping me. I know it wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?" he asked.

"I know you don't want to touch me, and I'm sor—"

"What? No, Erin don't think that. I…do you think that what happened in the church is going to change the way that I…no matter what had happened in that church, it doesn't change how I feel about you."

She looked shocked. "How you feel about me? You looked like you didn't want to touch me. I mean, at the church…I saw how you looked at me. Like you didn't want to touch me."

"No! No," he said, taking her hand in his. "I thought that you would want some space. Because of what I did."

"You saved my life. I mean, the method wasn't ideal, but I'm not knocked up with a pagan god-child that's going to destroy my body when I give birth. You risked everything for me. You offered your life, Sam. I could never hate you."

He sighed, a smile managing to creep across his features. He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. She shivered, and this time it wasn't from cold or weakness. He could have sworn he heard her sigh happily.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered.

"Don't be. Not for that," she answered. She ran her hand over the side of his face, tracing his jaw, his cheekbone, his nose. "Will you stay with me?"

He nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. He slipped into bed beside her and she snuggled close. He draped an arm across her waist, her head pillowed on his arm. And she wasn't shaking, he noticed. After a moment or two of silence, he did notice wetness on his arm. Tears, he realized. She was crying.

"What's wrong?"

"I know that you and your dad didn't exactly get along, but…you loved him. And you have some good memories, right?" she asked.

He nodded. There were some good memories. Not many, but some. His dad had been the one that taught them to stop on a clear night and look at the stars. And he had protected his sons. He had brought his boys closer together. And Sam couldn't forget finding his first soccer trophy in the storage unit.

"Yeah, there are some good memories."

"I feel like all of mine are broken. I have memories from when I was little of him putting me back on my bike after I fell off, or helping me with my homework…and now all I can think of is that he wasn't my father. My dad was dead, and that shapeshifter was raising the perfect sacrifice for his stupid god."

"Your father loved you," Sam whispered, kissing her temple. "And I'm sure that if he had been alive, he would have been doing all of those things. He would have taught you to ride a bike or fix your homework. And I'm betting that he didn't go down without a fight. He would have fought to protect you."

He kissed her temple once again, just as she had seen him do too many times with Jessica in her visions. She knew that he wasn't comparing her to Jess, that all of that was her, but she couldn't help it. If it weren't for Azazel, he would be sitting at home with Jess and their little apple-pie, white picket fence babies. He had thought that Jess was his soul mate, and how do you compete with that?

"Yeah…I know. I just…I want to be angry because he didn't love me. The shapeshifter, I mean. But mostly I'm just sad, and I don't like it. It's easier to be angry than sad," she finally answered. He pulled her so that she was facing him.

"Anger is what got me into this mess. You've seen it. If I had let all of my anger with Lilith go, we wouldn't be in this mess. Anger might hurt less right now, but in the long run, it's only going to make things worse. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to hurt and to grieve for him. It's a hell of a lot better than destroying the world with anger," he said vehemently, as if he could will her to understand.

She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. She just let them go, crying for the father that she didn't remember and hadn't known was dead. She cried for the destruction of her childhood memories, and she cried a little bit for her and Sam, for the trauma they had been through. She finally pulled herself together long enough to say, "I'm sorry. I'm being such a damsel right now. I'll be better tomorrow, I promise."

Sam smiled. "It's alright." And then, before he could think better of it, he kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, but with an edge of barely contained violence behind it. His hands were gentle as he pulled her close, but she knew that he wanted to hold her tightly and tell her that he wasn't going to let anything hurt her. Without being told, she knew that that barely contained violence was for her; that he was pissed about what happened to her, and that it wasn't going to happen again.

Never, in all her visions, had she seen him kiss Jess that way.


	9. Good Mornings and Goodbyes

**Author's Note: **For some reason, I was kinda inspired on the fic, so here is another chapter. I hope that you enjoy it, and thank you to **19irene96 **and **Psycho-Bunny1309** for the reviews. Ya'll are awesome.

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When Erin woke in the morning, she found herself in an entirely different position than when she had fallen asleep. She had fallen asleep on her side with her head resting on his arm. When she woke up, he was on his back, and she was practically on top of him. Her arms was thrown across his chest, her leg draped across his. No, she had definitely not fallen asleep this way.

She tried to get out of her compromising position without waking him, but all his years of hunting had made Sam a light sleeper. As soon as she moved, he was awake. "Where are you going?" he whispered sleepily. He sounded almost innocent when he asked.

"Nowhere. I was just trying to…not smother you," she answered, trying to ignore the rush of heat to her face that told her she was blushing furiously.

"You're not smothering me." His arms slid around her, holding her against him. She could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh, which only added to her blushing. Immediately, Sam realized what was causing her embarrassment and released her.

"Sorry…about that. It happens…I mean, I forgot that you'd never…sorry," he stammered sheepishly, a slight blush coming into his cheeks as well.

"It's okay…It was bound to happen one day. I—well, I guess it didn't _have _to happen, per say, but if I'm ever going to—it happens," she replied, her answer equally as influent as his.

He could keep the sheepish grin off his face as he stared down at her. Her blush was completely endearing, as was the way she tried to hide it. She kept burying her face in his chest or in the crook of his arm, trying to hide her face until the blush faded. It didn't work, but it was adorable nonetheless. Impulsively, he kissed her cheek.

And then the light, sweet kiss became another and another. She kissed him softly on the mouth, pressing her lips shyly to his. And just as one kiss had become many, this chaste kiss didn't stay that way. If quickly became deeper and more passionate. Her shyness melted away and before she knew that she was doing it, she was on top of him.

When she finally pulled away, she realized what she had done, and her embarrassment returned. "I—oh…I am so sorry—"

Sam put his hands on her thighs to keep her from sliding off. She could feel the calluses of his hands on her legs, odd against her smooth skin. But it was nice. It was comforting.

"I'm not…sorry, I mean."

"You're not?"

"I mean…not if you're not—"

She smiled. "I like it…the view's good up here," she whispered. He pulled himself into a sitting position so her could see eye-to-eye with her. Again, she felt him pressing against her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, which turned into several light kisses across her face and neck.

"Is it a nice view?" he asked, a smile on his face. She nodded.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I would be…I think I would like it if we—"

A loud knock on the door cut her off. Sam's arms instinctively tightened around her as he reached for the pistol that he had tucked under the pillow.

"Wake up, lovebirds! We've gotta get a move on!"

Sam sighed in frustration. Leave it to Dean to completely ruin the moment. Erin's cheeks grew even redder as she slipped off of Sam and headed into the bathroom to shower and dress. Sam did the same in Dean's room, trying to ignore his brother's knowing glances. When Erin finally made her way into their room, one glance from Dean turned her beet red.

"Alright. Are we ready to get you to Bobby's?" he asked.

"Bobby's? Why Bobby's?" she asked, looking between Dean and Sam. Fortunately, Dean realized that Sam had not had a chance to talk to Erin about the situation, and managed to cover the slip of his tongue.

"I thought we would take you to Bobby's. You can help him track down Pestilence and Dean, and if you have a vision, you could call us—"

"If I were with you, it would save me the phone call because I could just tell you."

"With us, you're in danger all the time—"

"You think I don't know that? I've had visions of you two for five years now. I know how all of this works—"

"Then you know that we're not expendable. To them—the angels and the devil—you are. And Sam is going to bend over backwards to make sure that nothing happens to you. He's going to get himself seriously hurt making sure that you don't get yourself killed," Dean said.

He wasn't angry; he wasn't raising his voice. The problem was that he was so very reasonable. Sam and Erin were both silent, staring at each other. She knew that Dean was right, and she also knew that she could be responsible for Sam suffering. Dean had played the right card and he knew it.

"That was low," she whispered.

"You've gotta do what you've gotta do."

"I'll get my stuff, then."

When she left the room to get her things together, Sam turned on his brother. "What happened to 'we can't make her do anything' crap that you were spewing last night?"

"She's going to get hurt, and if she comes with us, you will, too. Besides, I didn't force her. I gave her the facts, and she made a decision—"

"After you played her like a fiddle!"

"Sam if you like this girl—and you do, I know you do—you know that this is the best thing for her." Sam nodded, knowing that his brother was right. But it didn't make the separation any more appealing for him. They let the topic drop as Erin entered the room, her bag thrown over her shoulder.

"We're off to Bobby's, then?"

In the Impala, Sam and Erin sat in the backseat together. She was hyper-aware of the fact that Dean was glancing back at them in the rearview mirror every now and then, but she wouldn't let herself care. She was about to be away from Sam for an indefinable amount of time, and she didn't want to waste a single minute. Logically, she knew that she wasn't going to lose him. The angels wanted him and Dean to play their parts, accept their respective angels, and let war reign on Earth. But she still didn't like the idea of him going off without her.

Maybe that was the problem. It wasn't that she didn't like the idea of him fighting—as long as she had had visions, Sam Winchester had been associated with violence and blood. No, it wasn't the fighting that bothered her. It was the idea that she was going to be alone again that bothered her. If he was in trouble, there was nothing she could do to help. That was what bothered her.

He kissed the top of her head and ran his fingers through her hair. He didn't like the idea of leaving her alone with Bobby. Not that Bobby wasn't going to take care of her—he knew that he would—but he wanted to be there. He wanted to be the one that was there, that was taking care of her. But if he ended this—put Lucifer back in his cage—he would be back with her faster.

"How long will it take to get to Bobby's?" she asked quietly.

"We should be there tonight. We'll crash a Bobby's tonight and then we can get started tomorrow," Dean answered.

Tomorrow. They would have another night together, and then he would be off, fighting evil, doing something useful. She was going to be sitting on her ass, looking through books, waiting for a vision, while they were actually doing something about the evil running rampant in the world.

The ride was pretty quiet, Sam and Erin spending the whole time in silence or whispering a word every now and again. Somehow, she managed to make him laugh—a small miracle, considering that Sam didn't even smile anymore. Well, not normal smiles. They were those bitter, self-loathing smiles that had become all too familiar. But she made him laugh, and that was good.

After they stopped for lunch, Dean handed Sam the keys and told him to drive. It didn't matter that he wasn't really very tired, or that he really didn't want to let his brother drive his car. He climbed into the backseat and forced himself to fall asleep.

"So, where do you think that you'll start looking for Pestilence?" she asked quietly.

"There have been a lot of swine flu outbreaks. We'll probably start there, unless you and Bobby can find somewhere else better for us to start."

"Unless Bobby and I find something else, huh?"

"Yeah. You've seen it. Some of the stuff that Bobby finds is...it's like a damn miracle."

"Is this the "find something and I'll come home faster" speech?" she asked quietly, a small smile on her face.

"You could say that."

"Okay, well, I look really hard then. I promise."

He smiled at her and took her hand in his. He loved the way that her tiny hands felt in his. They both had callused hands, but they were different. Her calluses were from writing—holding a pencil all day. His were from holding guns and knives and all manner of violent things. She created with her hands, and he tore things apart. But somehow, she knew and accepted that, and he wasn't going to question it.

"Will you call me when you're gone?" she asked.

"Whenever I can," he answered, placing a small kiss across her knuckles. "I'll tell you everything about everything. Down to the last gory detail."

"Including slime and flies?"

He chuckled. "Including the slime and flies. You've got a strong stomach, so I know you can handle it."

She leaned against him and they fell into companionable silence until they arrived at Bobby's. He wheeled out on the porch, welcoming them to his house again. Erin could have sworn that she saw some relief when she managed to make it inside the house without collapsing on his front porch. He was very nearly ecstatic when she made up the stairs to what would become her bedroom without incident. He was less happy when he saw how unhappy Sam was.

"I'll take care of her, kid," he said as they watched her head up the stairs.

"I know. Hell, she'll probably take care of you, Bobby," Sam joked. Bobby cracked a small smile.

They settled in—sitting around Bobby's desk, piled high with books and notes and pages of numbers. They passed around a bottle of whiskey, and for once since Erin had come into their lives, it felt like a celebratory moment. She wanted to laugh at the irony—that they were all at ease and their happiest the night before Sam was going to leave her. But somehow, they were happy.

Dean was laughing. Bobby was laughing. When Cas showed up, he looked more confused than usual, which meant that the humor was all going over his head, and he was happy. Sam was sitting with his arm around Erin, his head thrown back in laughter. When she felt him laughing, it brought a smile to her face, because it seemed that now he was laughing more than he had in all of her visions put together.

When she yawned, he noticed immediately. "We're going to head to bed, guys."

They all nodded, that knowing expression on their faces. Well, except Cas, who just looked confused. It was a little private joke between the two of them; everyone thought that they were having wild, crazy, passionate, the-world-could-end-tomorrow-so-let's-screw sex. But they weren't. No, their night was spend holding one another with a lots of kisses, and maybe a few tears. But it was a good night. They didn't get any sleep, neither of them wanting to lose a minute. They would be exhausted the next day, which really wasn't a great way to start a hunt for Pestilence, but it was going to have to work.

They basked in the happiness of those moments, because they weren't sure when they were going to have another one.


	10. Leaving Marks

**Author's Note: **Thank you to **Psych-Bunny1309** who was my only reviewer for the last chapter. Readers, if you're out there, give me sign! No, seriously, reviews let me know what I need to fix, what you like, all that fun stuff, so let me know. Please review.

Also, note the rating change. That is for the end of this chapter. You have been warned.

* * *

_Dean was sprawled on the ground, leaning back against the Impala in order to stay upright. Sam reached down and grabbed his brother by the front of his jacket, drew his fist back, and slammed it into the brother's face again and again. His hands were slowly covered in blood—his brother's blood. But there was something wrong with Sam; it wasn't him. His face was wrong, too dark and too angry. No, that was Lucifer in there. _

_"It's okay. I-I'm not going to leave you," Dean gasped. _

_Lucifer pulled back Sam's fist again, for the death blow—_

"Erin! Erin! Are you alright?"

She opened her eyes to see Bobby looking down at her. Her back was pressed against the cold wooden floor where she had fallen when her vision started. Reaching down from his chair, Bobby did the best he could to help her up. As soon as she took his hand, he felt her shaking and knew that something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, already on edge.

"I-It's Sam. He's…he's going to say yes," she whispered, sitting down on the edge of the couch. "In my vision, he had said yes and was beating the hell out of Dean. He was going to kill him."

"Are you sure?"

"Is there another reason why Sam would be beating his brother to death?" Bobby was silent, unable to come up with another answer. "There was something wrong about him. His face was too still and angry. Even when he was hunting Lilith, I've never seen Sam that dark before."

Bobby nodded and studied his hands, guilt written all over his face. Immediately, Erin picked up on it. Bobby wasn't the type to hold on to guilt that wasn't truly his, so something had to be wrong.

"What is it, Bobby? What aren't you telling me?" she asked.

"Last time I was on the phone with Sam, he asked me how I managed to take my body back during my possession. He's got this harebrained idea that he's going to let Lucifer in and then take control of his body and lock Lucifer back in his cage."

She was silent for a minute or five, thinking over what Bobby said. Sam wanted to say yes. He was going to let Lucifer into his body. Then Sam was going to take his body back from Lucifer and send Lucifer back to hell…while he was still in Sam's body. Sam and Lucifer in the same body—Sam's body—in Hell. Sam in hell. No, that couldn't be right.

"That would mean that Sam would be in Hell," she whispered. Bobby nodded. "Well then we can't let him do it. We can't let Sam go to Hell. You saw what it did to Dean, and Sam's time there would be a thousand times worse. Even if we got him out quickly, he would still suffer—"

"We're running out of options, kid. If this can stop the apocalypse, it's what we have to do."

"So we sacrifice Sam to save the world."

"You believe in Jesus, right?" he asked, pointing at the cross necklace around her neck.

"Clearly," she answered, wondering where this was going.

"You believe that Jesus died for the sins of the world. His life—one life—was given to save the world from sin and death—"

"It's not the same thing, Bobby, and you know it. Jesus was resurrected and went to Heaven. Sam would be stuck in Hell. _Hell_. Like, pit of fire and torture. I don't know what you think Hell is, but I've seen it. I saw Dean's time there, and it isn't pretty. Souls that go to Hell aren't down there sipping martinis and comparing stories with Stalin and Hitler. They're in pain every minute of every day for the rest of eternity. Sam doesn't deserve that."

"Well it doesn't really matter what we think, because we can't stop Sam anyway."

"Sure we can. We bring him here, we lock him in the panic room, and we keep him there until we find some way to end this thing."

"This might be our only chance to stop this. I'm not saying that I like this plan, Erin, but I'm saying that it might be the only way to keep millions of people from going through what Dean went through in hell."

She clenched her, too angry to form a rational argument. But instead of sitting around and listening to Bobby yammer on philosophically about how they had to do what was best for the most people, she stormed up the stairs where he couldn't follow her. She didn't miss his sigh of frustration as she stormed up the stairs.

Sam couldn't do this, for several reasons. For one, if it worked and they did manage to lock Sam and Lucifer back in Hell, Sam was going to suffer endless torment, and that was not okay. Secondly, from her vision, she could tell that things clearly do not go according to plan. Sam did not have control over Lucifer in that vision. This plan was clearly not going to work.

But Bobby was sold on it, no matter how much he didn't like it, and apparently Sam was, too. That was why she had gotten the vision; Sam had already made up his mind. This meant that there was only one person to call.

"Hello?" Dean's voice came from the other end of the line.

"Dean, its Erin. Is Sam with you?"

"No, he's in the shower."

"Good. I need you to listen, and I need you to listen well. Don't interrupt me, and save all comments for the end. I just had a vision, and in it, Sam had said yes to Lucifer—"

"What?"

"No interruptions, remember? Sam has apparently gotten this idea in his head that he is going to say yes to Lucifer, take control of his body, and put himself and Lucifer back into the cage. In my vision, he did not have control over Lucifer, and the devil was beating you to death. We can't let him do this, because clearly, it isn't going to work," she said, words spilling out of her mouth in a rush. When Dean was silent, she added, "You can talk now."

"Sam says yes to Lucifer?"

"Yes. He's talked the idea over with Bobby—"

"He talked to Bobby? What did Bobby say?" Dean asked, sounding both hurt and a little surprised.

"He seems to be drinking the cool aid. He thinks that we're pretty much out of options and that maybe this is the only way that we're going to be able to stop this thing. He tried to compare Sam to Jesus."

"Jesus? I don't think that Jesus accidentally ended the world," Dean commented, not really sure what to say. He had expected Bobby to be level headed, but also expected him to be on the side of Team Free Will. He didn't expect Bobby to support this awful idea.

"Sacrifice one to save millions. That's the point. But my point is, I've seen it and it doesn't go well. It doesn't work, so we can't let Sam do it. Where are you?" she asked.

"Room 237 at the Blue Moon Motel, just outside of Chicago. Crowley said he thought Death was in Chicago."

"Okay, you go on your hunt for Death, and I'll be there this afternoon and we'll see if we can talk some sense into Sam."

"Alright. I'll see you later," he said tersely and hung up. She set the phone on her bedside table and began to throw all of her clothes into a duffel bag. There was no order or method to the way that she was putting things in the bag; she just wanted it done as quickly as possible. Pulling the bag over her shoulder, she made her way downstairs to Bobby's room and began to do the same.

"What are you doing?" he asked, finding her in his room.

"We're going to stop Sam, and you're coming with me. If we can't stop him, you might as well be there to say goodbye." Her voice was filled with bitterness and barely controlled rage. If he wasn't going to make this any easier on her, she was not going to make things easy for him.

"Erin—"

"Don't you 'Erin' me. You're going and that's that," she snapped.

Throwing his duffle bag over her other shoulder, she grabbed the back of his chair and pushed him out the door, grabbing her car keys on the way out the door. It seemed odd to think that she might never come back to Bobby's. That place had been her home for the past two and half weeks. She had a routine there. She woke up early every morning, got the paper, made a pot of coffee. Bobby woke up around 8:45, and Sam called at 9:30 on the dot. She bought groceries; she and Bobby alternated cooking duties, and she did research. Sam would call her at night if he could, and if he couldn't, she always got a text. Now, that was gone.

It didn't take them as long as she had through to get to the motel, probably because she developed a lead foot en route and was constantly at least twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. Neither she nor Bobby said anything, but she did punish him by forcing him to listen to rap all the way to Chicago. Some of it bothered her, but she would never, ever admit that to him.

When they arrived in the motel, Dean was standing outside by the Impala, staring at something in his hands. Erin pulled into the space next to him and got out of the car, leaving Bobby to fend for himself. Looking down into Dean's hands, she saw what he was staring at: the four rings.

"You killed Death?"

"No. He gave me the ring," Dean said reluctantly.

"He _gave _it to you?"

"He made me promise that I would let Sammy jump into that hole if that is what it took to put Lucifer in his cage. How pissed do you think he'll be if we don't?"

"You know what? We'll jump off that bridge when we get there. Where's Sam?"

"Inside. Apparently Pestilence had a little helper of the demonic variety helping him with a test run of Croatoan virus. Sam got pretty beat up in the fight. He's licking his wounds," Dean said.

"Please tell me you idjits had enough sense to get a room on the first floor," Bobby grumbled. Dean nodded and led the way. As he pushed open the door, Sam was coming out the bathroom, clad in jeans but without a shirt. Bruises and scratches were scattered all across his chest and arms. When he turned away from the door, she saw that his back was the same.

"Erin? Bobby? What are you doing here?" He didn't bother to pull on a shirt before crossing the room and taking Erin into his arms. He squeezed her tightly against him, despite the fact that his body was aching. It felt good—too good—to have in near him again. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the lips.

"I think the better question would be why we are here. You can't say yes to Lucifer, Sam," Erin said quietly. He froze as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and looked to Bobby, who bowed his head. "I had a vision, Sam. Bobby didn't tell me. It would have been nice if you had, though."

"If you had a vision, that means it's meant to be," Sam said quietly.

"Bullshit and you know it. You've changed things that I've seen before, or at least twisted them into them into something good. This is an easy one. All you have to do is say no," she replied, far more patient with Sam than she had been with Bobby.

"Or, I make sure that I can keep Lucifer under control before I say yes."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"Demon blood would be the best option," a low, gravelly voice said from the bathroom doorway. Cas stepped into the motel room and studied the group before him.

"Somebody should put a bell on that guy," Erin mumbled. Cas heard her and stared quizzically, not understanding exactly what she meant to accomplish by putting a bell on him.

"Demon blood?" Dean asked, his dislike of the idea obvious in the voice.

"How much?" Sam asked at the same time. Erin looked at him, horrified.

"It would be more than you've ever had before. Lucifer's drinking gallons of it a day to keep his vessel from combusting," Cas replied.

"Then that's what we'll do," Sam said firmly.

"NO! No, no no!" Erin's voice was somewhere between a scream and roar, and she was making it perfectly clear that she was not at all happy with this option. "Sam, even if this does work, you're going to be in Hell. _Hell. _As in, the stuff that nightmares are made of. And if it doesn't work, like I've seen in my vision, than we have the end of the world as we know it. How can you not see that this plan is not okay?"

"I let Lucifer out, and I have to put him back in his cage. And now this is the only option that we have left, and all of you know it," he replied patiently. Erin looked over her shoulder at Dean and saw him nod. She was the only one in opposition to this idea.

"But…it's not fair," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. The others looking on knew exactly what was about to happen and quietly slipped out of the room. Well, somewhat quietly. Cas nearly ran into the wall while he was trying to watch Sam and Erin and Dean was pulling him out the door.

"It is fair. It has to be this way. I let him out—"

"You didn't mean to—"

"But he's still free, and I have to clean up that mess. I have to do this, Erin. If I can do this, Dean won't have to say yes to Michael and the world doesn't burn."

In her head, she knew that he was right. If drinking copious amounts of demon blood would allow him to beat Lucifer, her vision wouldn't happen and this would be the best option for saving the most people. But she didn't really care too much about the other people, not at Sam's expense. She was selfish like that.

"But…what about me?" It was a selfish dig and she knew it, but it was the only one she had left. "How am I supposed to wake up every day and go on with my life when you're in Hell?" she whispered. "I mean…there's not even any comfort in the idea that I'll get to see you again in Heaven because you won't be there. I'm not really sure what kind of heaven that is for me."

"You'll move on. Promise me that," he said.

She shook her head. "I want _you_."

Erin knew that she sounded like a petulant child, that she was being selfish and that she should let him save the world without giving him such a hard time. He was trying to be good and selfless and all the things that had made her fall in love with him, but she didn't want to let him go. Then again, if she convinced him not to do this, he would be miserable for the rest of his very short life. He would be miserable knowing that he let the world die when he might have been able to save it. Every minute of every day would be terrible for him.

"If you don't do this, you'll be miserable, won't you?" she asked, taking his hand. He didn't say yes, not exactly, but his silent glance at his hands was enough. "Then I won't stop you. Because you…you can make your own decisions. And I…I lov—I can't let you be miserable."

He stared at her for a minute, tears in his eyes. "Do you have any idea how strong you are?" he finally asked.

"I'm not strong. Not at all. I just tried to do the lowest thing a person can do. The ever-awful "if you cared about me, you would stay" trick."

"But you didn't." He kissed her softly on the lips, but she didn't let him get away with a light kiss. She pulled him close against her and deepened the kiss, making it harsher, rougher, more desperate. Her hands slid across his bruised chest and over the shallow scratches on marred his arms. Suddenly, she was pulling him towards the bed, breaking the kiss long enough to push him down on it and straddle him.

"Sam, could we…?" It was odd that she could think about having sex and definitely wanted to have sex and somehow still couldn't bring herself to say it. The fiery blush in her cheeks told him exactly what she was asking, and while some would have found it awkward, he found her blush to be charming.

"If you want," he answered, smiling.

"I mean, I do," she said, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "B-but only if you want to—"

He silenced her with a kiss—sweet and tender. "I do. I really do."

And then she was kissing him again—his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. Somehow, she found herself on her back, Sam on top of her. His hands were under her shirt, pulling it over her head and revealing to him an expanse of soft, creamy skin. He felt her tremble has he ran his hands over her body, feeling that soft skin under his fingertips. So needless to say, he was shocked when she tried to press his close-cut nails into her skin.

"Please," she whispered, and he obliged. As he slid her pants and panties down over her thigh, he dragged his nails across her skin, leaving dark red streaks.

"Are you sure?"

"Please," she gasped, pushing at his pants. He quickly shimmied out of the rest of his clothing, pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed. Erin climbed in quickly, eager to be near him again. He tried to gently touch her, but she kept pushing, trying to make him be rough with her, to bruise and scratch her.

And so he did as she asked. It was her first time, and it would be how she wanted it. And soon—tomorrow, perhaps—he would be leaving her. He was going to kiss her goodbye and tell her that he loved her, and then ride off into the sunset to die. He knew that he was going to leave her behind, heartbroken and alone and in pain, but until then, she was going to get what she wanted.

She pressed against him, reveling in the feel of his body on top of hers. He slips a hand between her legs, and suddenly she's gasping in pleasure. She's not entirely sure what he's doing, but Erin was definitely starting to understand why people had recreational sex. There was something building in her, a feeling that she couldn't described. It was good, definitely, but overwhelming. Her heart was pounding, her breathing heavy, and it was amazing.

"Sam," she gasped. He kissed her softly, gently, and she tasted tears. She wasn't sure if they were his or hers, or maybe both. When he pulled away, she could see the tears in his eyes, too. Tears, pain.

When she pressed her hips insistently against his, he took the hint and gently entered her. She bit back her gasp, but couldn't stop herself from flinching. The guilt in Sam's eyes told her that he felt the flinch and knew that she was hurting just a bit. He was still until the smallest movement of her head told him to please move.

And then his nails were digging little half-moon cuts into her arms, and she was feeling that feeling again—something buzzing in her stomach, building and building every time Sam moved. And just when she thought that it would be unbearable, it wasn't. It was bright, white shooting pleasure that shot through her entire body and left her completely limp and satisfied.

For a minute anyway, until she came back down to the earth and remembered that Sam was going to die soon. She looked at him and could tell from the red blotches on his face that he had been crying, too. She snuggled in close and wrapped her arms around him. He pulled her closer, almost painfully close.

"I love you," he finally whispered, and it almost sounded like an apology.

"What?" she asked, afraid that she hadn't heard him correctly.

"I love you. I know that it isn't fair to say it now when I don't have to live with the consequences, but I needed to say it. I love you, and if—I-I don't want to leave you. But if the world ends, that means that you die, and I can't live with that. But I don't want to leave you here with you believing that you weren't important enough for me to stay, and I don't want you to think that I don't care, because I do…I love you."

Tears and snot were streaming down her cheeks as she stared at him in shocked silence. He loved her. He loved her. Sam was in love with her. And soon he would be dead. So she had best say it when she can.

"I love you, too. And I know that you would rather stay with me. But I think that part of the reason I love you so damn much is that you're the guy who's selfless when he shouldn't be. And you're _good_. And I love you."

Tears are streaming down her cheeks as the words roll off her tongue. She knows that both of them need to get some sleep, but she can't. This might be her last night with Sam, and she can't let it pass her by sleeping. She sees the deep scratches that Sam left on her arms, and she's glad of them. Already, she's planning to let them scar her, just so that she always has a reminder of him etched into her skin.

Because soon, she'll have nothing left of him.


	11. Bourbon and Nightmares

**Author's Note: So, I'm sorry for the very, superlong delay on the chapter. I'll confess, I was distracted by another Dean/OC story that I had going on, as well as another fandom. *Dodges flying objects* Please forgive me. I hope that this chapter begins to make up for it. Also, thank you to _Psycho-Bunny1309_ for the review on the last chapter. And to all you people who are lurking out there...drop me a line, give me a sign that you're out there and reading...please? **

* * *

_Dean was sprawled on the ground, leaning back against the Impala in order to stay upright. Sam reached down and grabbed his brother by the front of his jacket, drew his fist back, and slammed it into the brother's face again and again. His hands were slowly covered in blood—his brother's blood. But there was something wrong with Sam; it wasn't him. His face was wrong, too dark and too angry. No, that was Lucifer in there. _

_"It's okay. I-I'm not going to leave you," Dean gasped. _

_Lucifer pulled back Sam's fist again, for the death blow—_

_And then he stopped. He stopped and Sam was in control again. He pulled the rings out of his pocket and started to chant in Enochian. A hole opened up in the ground—a great, big, gaping chasm—and Sam approached the edge, waiting to just a split second to jump in._

_"Dean, take care of—"_

_"If you finish that sentence, I'm going to kick your ass," Erin gasped from where she was lying on the ground beside Dean, bruised and bloody. _

_Sam stared at them both for a moment, his eyes filled with tears and resolve. He cast a lingering glance at Dean, who just nodded, eyes full of understanding—_

"Erin. Erin!" Someone was shaking her roughly, trying to wake her from her nightmare. The noise hurt her ears, and when she opened her eyes, the light was blindingly bright. Her head was pounding, everything all loud and bright and too damn much. She closed her eyes quickly and tried to ignore the noise. "Wake up, Erin."

"Go 'way, Dean," she grumbled, burying her face back into the couch cushions. When he didn't stop shaking her, she finally rolled over and opened her eyes. Dean was standing over her, looking concerned and slightly pissed. Well, that's better than she had expected him to be, finding her like this.

"Get up. You look like hell," Dean grumbled, tossing her a clean shirt off of the pile of laundry on the floor. She just barely caught it and pulled herself off the couch, staggering across the living room to the bathroom, where she splashed water on her face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Lisa was worried when you didn't turn up for yoga this morning," he answered, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. She watched as he quickly sent Lisa a text message so that she would know that Erin was alright. "And now I see that she had a reason to be worried. What the hell are you doing?"

Erin turned on the shower and stepped inside, still in her clothes from the day before. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her breath still reeked of alcohol. It wasn't the first time that he had seen her like this; hell, he had helped her get this way more than once in the past year. But he managed to hold it together during the day. He managed to hold on to sobriety until after Ben had gone to bed. Erin didn't have anyone to hold on to, and it made staying sober that much harder. Well, staying sober probably wasn't the right term. It was more like a state of not being completely staggering drunk, but it was better than it used to be.

"I'm trying to shower," Erin answered, throwing her clothes over the top of the shower and onto the bathroom floor.

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."

She stuck her head out the shower and stared at him long and hard. He didn't look a thing like Sam, something that she had come to be grateful for in the long run. Immediately after Sam…passed, she wanted anything and everything that could remind her of him. She had a small picture of the two of them—snapped without her knowledge while they were at Bobby's one weekend—that she had very nearly worn out. The nail marks that Sam had inadvertently made on her arms had become scars that stood out dark against her light skin. Looking for things that reminded her of him had nearly driven her insane—it had definitely led her to drinking—and seeing a living, walking replica of Sam everyday would have been torturous.

"Let me get cleaned up and I'll tell you about it."

He nodded and quickly got out of the bathroom and went to wait on her in the living room. The Erin that he knew before Sam's death—it hurt to say, but he needed to say it, to get used to it—would have had the room looking spotless and organized. This Erin had let the room become a mess. Laundry was sitting in baskets around the room, books piled high in stacks on end tables and the floor, empty bottles of bourbon (and not even the good stuff that she used to drink) were stacked not a table beside the couch, and notes were taking up every other available surface. It looked like a library, a Laundromat, and a liquor store had run into each other and exploded all over Erin's living room.

He studied the notes that were pinned on the wall. They didn't make any sense to him with all the arrows and abbreviations that Erin was using, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she was looking for a way to bring Sam back. He had a stash of notes and books on the subject, too. So far, neither of them had been successful.

"Trying to make sense of my chicken scratch?" Erin asked quietly. She now looked half-decent, clad in jeans and her leather jacket, and no longer reeked of booze. No amount of showering or tooth paste was going to fix the dark circles under her eyes, though. "What are you doing here, Dean? I don't usually see you until after five."

"Lisa called me when you didn't turn up for yoga this morning. She was worried about you."

Erin was quiet for a long time before she finally spoke. "I saw him, Dean."

Dean was quiet for an even longer time, staring at anything but her. "Erin…"

"I know that you probably think I'm crazy, but I saw him. I swear I did. He was standing outside on the sidewalk, watching the house. When I went outside to talk to him, he was gone."

"Erin, I want to believe that you saw Sam, but that doesn't make any sense. If it really was Sam, he wouldn't run away when you came out to see him. He would be inside, with you. And then right after he die—after we got here, you said that you saw him outside Lisa's window—"

"Dean, I saw him. It was him!"

He was silent for a long, long time. Unable to stand the silence, she grabbed the half-empty bottle of bourbon and took a long swallow before passing it to Dean, who followed suit. She laid down on the sofa and stared out the window of her house.

"Were you drunk when you saw him?" he finally asked.

"No. That was after."

"I've been seeing signs. Last night I saw bloody claw marks in an old theatre down town. There was sulfur at the construction site and more claw marks—"

"Me, too. There was sulfur on my bedroom window sill. That's why I have the salt all over the place—"

She was interrupted by the windows shattering as several demons burst through the windows. Dean immediately grabbed one of the bottles off a nearby table and started swinging, catching the closest demon in the side of the head. Erin turned and ran into the kitchen, jumping over the salt line that she had laid down. In the kitchen, she pulled her newly acquired shot gun from off the top of the refrigerator and started firing into the crowd of demons. She could hear Dean grunting in the living room.

"Dean! What's going on?" she called. All she got in answer were distressed grunts. Grabbing a container of salt from the cabinet, she tried to fight her way back to where Dean was lying. As she turned, she saw him again. Sam. Sam was standing in the middle of the crowd of demons, his eyes black and ominous. She started to push her way through the horde of demons towards Sam, only to be jerked back into the kitchen. She lost her balance and began falling to the floor, only to be caught. The hands were strong and familiar as they lowered her to the floor. She glanced up to see who had caught her.

"Sam?"

She was right. She knew that she had seen him, and now she had proof. He was here, in her kitchen, fighting off demons and saving her ass. As in, he wasn't in Hell anymore. As in, he was with her. Her heart started racing, and not from the adrenaline of the fight.

Well, until he slammed a huge needle into her chest. Then she passed out.

Sam lifted her body gently into his arms and placed it on the living room sofa next to Dean's. Both of them seemed to be sleeping gently, but moments before he had seemed anything but. Both of them had. But then, the djinn's poison did that to its victims; all of them had been nearly insane—crippled by visions and beyond saving—by the time that Sam and the rest of the crew had gotten there. Dean was the first to open his eyes, and he was oddly surprised to find Sam sitting on a chair looking over Erin's books. He had mostly expected to find him sitting with Erin, holding her hand and trying to shake her awake.

"Sam?" he whispered, sitting up. Sam looked up and raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah?"

"You're back?" Sam nodded.

When Dean threw a handful of salt at him, he barely flinched. Instead, he just sat there and stared at his brother, waiting for him to run through the rest of the tests. Dean also handed him a flask of holy water, and nicked his arm with a silver knife. Nothing happened. After running all the tests, Dean got up off the couch and wrapped his arms around his brother.

"It's good to have you back, man. God, it's good to see you, even if you did bring the monsters with you."

"Actually, I just followed them here. They're djinn; they poisoned you and Erin. That's what caused your hallucinations," Sam said, his voice flat.

"You followed them here? Followed them from where?" Dean asked, catching the small detail that Sam had let slip. Sam clenched his jaw before reluctantly answering.

"Bobby caught the trail outside of Bainbridge, Indiana. Then we followed them here. Somehow, we must have missed them when they poisoned you two."

"Bobby caught the trail? What were you doing at Bobby's? How long have you been back, Sam?" When Sam didn't answer, but instead tried to look anywhere but at Dean. But then he looked at Erin, who was still unconscious, and found that it wasn't any better than looking at Dean. "Sam? How long have you been back?"

"A year."

"A year? You've been back for a _year _and you didn't think to call?" Dean's voice was rising, and he suddenly didn't care about keeping it down. "What the hell?"

"Dean, can we have this conversation later. Maybe after we've caught the djinn?"

"No. We're going to have this conversation now, before Erin wakes up. I've spent a year thinking that you were rotting in _Hell. _You didn't think that maybe you should stop by and drop me line? Maybe an "Oh, hey Dean. By the way, I'm not in Hell anymore—"

"Look at what you have here! You've got Lisa and Ben and a normal apple pie life complete with white picket fences. You were _out_ and you had the life you wanted—"

"The life I wanted? No, not at all. This past year hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. Not for me, and definitely not for Erin."

"What's wrong with Erin?" Sam asked, his voice more curious than concerned.

"The better question would be what isn't wrong with Erin. After you…"

"Died?"

"After you died, she seemed like she was dealing. She found her own place a week after we got here and started looking for a job. But as soon as she was out of the house, she stopped showing up for dinners. The first time Lisa went over the check on her, Erin was drunk and watching infomercials on the couch. The second time, she was staggering around singing "Heat of the Moment" when she fell through her glass coffee table and sliced her arms open. I had to stitch her back together. Another time, I found her unconscious in the bathtub with the water running. She'd given herself a nice case of alcohol poisoning and I had to take her to the emergency room. Those first three months, she nearly drank herself to death."

Sam stared at Erin, now seeing the scars on her arms that must have come from falling through the table. He also saw the small semi-circular cuts on her upper arms, the ones that had come from his fingernails digging into her upper arms during their lovemaking. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the new muscle in her body.

"She's still drinking," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah, she is. Her liver probably still isn't saying any thank-yous, but at least she's functional. She's been doing yoga with Lisa and got a job. Until she saw you yesterday, I hadn't found her passed out on the couch in seven months."

A moan from the couch interrupted them both as Erin started to wake. As soon as she saw Sam, she struggled across the room and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment, he returned the hug. She squeezed him tightly—probably too tightly, she knew—and reveled in the feel of him against her. He was so strong and solid and _there. _Pulling away, she kissed him fiercely. After several long moments, Dean cleared his throat pointedly, and Erin took the hint.

"Hi," she said shyly, almost unsure of herself.

"Hi yourself," he whispered. She touched his cheek and ran her hands through his hair, just to make sure that he was real. She'd seen too many things in her drunken stupors not to question whether or not it was real.

"You're back."

"Yeah, I'm back."

"And he brought a djinn with him," Dean piped up. "That means it's time to get moving. Pack a bag; you're going to Bobby's."

"What? No. I can stay—"

"You can't stay," Sam said quietly. "This thing we're fighting, it's already poisoned you once. It would kill you this time. You have to go."

"But, I want to fight—"

"You can't fight," Sam cut her off. "You're going to get in the way and get yourself killed. You need to go to Bobby's."

His voice wasn't right; it was too harsh and too sharp. He was trying to keep her safe, she knew that, but it still smarted just a bit. And he'd just gotten back from Hell, right? She could hardly expect him to be the exact same man that she had fallen in love with. After all, Hell wasn't a walk in the park, and she knew that.

"Okay," she answered, kissing him softly on the cheek. "I'll go pack. Will you come with me?"

Sam stared at her for a minute, almost unsurely, before nodding and following her back to her bedroom. As he watched them walk away, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.


	12. Wrong

**Author's Note: So, I massively apologize for the delay in posting this. I might have gotten too caught up in school, and then accidentally killed my computer, and then graduated from college and realized that now I have to actually get a real job...all of which is quite daunting. But I do apologize for the delay, and thank you to those of you who have stuck with me. I'll try to update more consistently from now on. Please review!**

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He should feel like the conquering hero. By all definitions, they were. In the course of working this case, Dean had recovered his brother, discovered his grandfather—returned from the dead—and killed the baddies. In every book, that would make him a winner.

But standing there in Bobby's kitchen, watching Lisa and Ben, he didn't feel like a winner. Ben looked scared and confused, and Lisa looked pretty much the same. There were dark circles under her eyes, and every muscle was tense. Bobby was doing his best to put them at ease, but stacks of dusty old books filled with demonic lore aren't exactly the stuff that dreams are made of—not the pleasant ones, in any case. But they were in the kitchen, scrambling eggs and drinking coffee like a normal family.

But more than Lisa and Ben's confused reactions was the fact that he hadn't seen Erin yet that morning. Sam had come downstairs long enough to get some coffee and then retreated into the living room with one of Bobby's many books. He looked satisfied with himself, and when Dean asked about Erin, he had only smiled smugly with a look on his face that told everyone what they'd been doing. It was something that Dean used to do, and something completely out of character for Sam.

When ten o'clock rolled around and Erin still hadn't made an appearance, Dean wasn't the only one who was getting concerned. Bobby popped his head in to ask Sam about Erin, only to be answered with the same smug look and a grin that didn't quite reach all the way to his eyes. Lisa was the next to begin worrying, but she didn't bother to ask Sam.

"Dean, where's Erin? She should be up by now," she asked, twisting her hands and eyeing the stairs, waiting for Erin to come down.

"My guess is that she's still upstairs."

"She never slept this late. Not unless she was…"

"She's not drunk right now," Dean said quietly. "Not today. Do you want to go check on her, or should I?"

Lisa thought about it for a minute before answering. "You know her better than I do."

Dean nodded and headed up the stairs to the first bedroom on the left. The door was still closed, but he heard noises inside. Drawing a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door. Immediately, the shuffling stopped and the room fell silent. He knocked again, but Erin didn't answer.

"Erin?"

He could have sworn he heard a sigh of relief, followed by the shuffling that he heard before. The door still stayed closed, but at least there were signs of life on the other side of it. He couldn't help but wonder, however, why she seemed nervous that there was someone at her door.

"Give me a minute to get decent."

"Yeah, sure. Take your time. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," he said.

"I'm fine. I didn't realize that I'd slept so late. Am I the last one up?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, I figured what with it being your first…I just thought that since it was the first time alone you would get with Sam, maybe you wouldn't want to be disturbed. But there's some people that Sam wanted to introduce you to."

She was silent for a long moment, and still too. "Okay. I'll be down in a minute. You wouldn't happen to have any coffee, would you?"

"We do. Breakfast complete with eggs and bacon."

"Awesome. Then I'll definitely be down in a minute."

He headed back downstairs, satisfied that she was up and moving. Something wasn't right about the situation, he knew that. Something was nagging him, itching in the far corners of his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Well, there were several things that he could put his finger on—like how his brother had been back for a year and hadn't contacted him, or the way that good ole' Grandpa Campbell had reappeared from the dead—but none of them had anything to do with explaining Erin's strange behavior.

It was another twenty minutes before Erin finally made it down stairs, clad in black yoga pants and an oversized flannel shirt over a black tank top. Ever since she had given up drinking—shit-faced binge drinking, anyway—he had always seen her well-dressed. She always went out of her way to make sure that she was put together, even when she was going to yoga with Lisa, and now she wasn't. Something was not right, but he didn't say anything.

"Do you have that coffee?" she asked quietly as she slipped into the kitchen.

Dean watched as Lisa handed Erin a cup of coffee—black, of course—and a plate of eggs and bacon. Erin leaned against the counter to eat, only to change her mind and settle into a chair at the table. She ate her food in silence and stared at the table like it was the most interesting thing that she had ever seen. When Sam came in and stood behind her, she sat still.

"She lives," he said, his voice just a hair too loud as he rested his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sure you saw them, but I wanted to introduce you to the crew."

He took her hand and pulled her out of the chair—not hard, but more than she was used to—and into Bobby's living room, where the rest of the crew was waiting. An older, bald man was leaning against a desk, a cranky guy who looked a few years older than Sam, and a younger girl with short, dark hair.

"This is my grandfather, Samuel," Sam said, gesturing to the bald man.

"Grandfather? Like, was dead but isn't anymore grandfather?" Erin asked, shaking hands.

"Whoever pulled Sam up must have pulled me down. I'm Samuel Campbell."

"Mary's father? Didn't see that one coming," she mumbled. Sam must have overheard, because he chuckled quietly. It didn't sound the same to her; something about it was off just slightly, and it sent chills down her spine.

"The one and only. This is Christian, and that's Gwen. They're Sam's cousins."

"And Dean's too, I hope," she joked, trying to lighten the mood and shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Everyone laughed, but instead of lightening her anxieties, it only made her more aware of the way that things weren't quite right. Sam should be standing with Dean, not with his cousins. He should look wary of this newfound family, not have that slightly tense smile on his face that looked so very out of place.

"You don't know how you got back?" she asked quietly, after an awkward silence had settled over the room.

"No, I woke up in the field where it all happened, and made my way here—to Bobby's—and started hunting," Sam said quietly.

"You didn't try to find us? Me and Dean, I mean?"

"I didn't thin—I haven't been back all that long—"

"Stop lying to me, Sam," she snapped. "I'm not a complete idiot. I know that you're hiding something from me. It's like an elephant in the room. What is it?"

No one spoke, not even Dean. Instead, they all started to stare awkwardly at their shoes or their hands or the god-awful wallpaper that clearly hadn't been changed in far too long. Sam was staring very intently at the picture just over her left shoulder. When none of them answered, she tried again.

"What are you hiding from me, Sam?"

Again, no one answered her question. Instead, Samuel cleared his throat and left the room. Everyone else followed suite and retreated into the kitchen, out of earshot. Dean followed, but lingered near the door, hoping to catch some of their conversation.

"Erin, calm down—"

"Don't patronize me, Sam. I know that something isn't right. What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. Instead of relaxing under his touch, he felt her muscles tense as she rose and shrugged him off. Confused, he cocked his head to the side and stared at her, unsure of what to do. Touch was supposed to calm people, and it wasn't working on Erin. Not this time.

"You didn't try to find Dean and me. Not at first. You only found us because we were part of the case," she said aloud as the realization hit her. He didn't try to deny it; instead, he stared straight at her, confirming that she was right. She could feel the tears prickling at her eyes, and in an attempt to keep them from spilling over, she clenched her jaw tight. It didn't help, and the tears spilled over her cheeks.

"How long have you been back?" she whispered, not bothering to wipe the tears away. Sam didn't try, either.

"A year," he answered, without a shred of shame in his voice or body language.

"A year? You've been back for a year and you didn't bother to contact us? Do you know what this year has been like?"

"No, I don't." He didn't even try to elaborate.

"Then let me tell you, Sam. Dean was broken. He put up everything that reminded him of you because the idea of you in Hell was too much for him to deal with. The Impala was locked in the garage, but he lived in paranoia. Devils' traps were drawn on the undersides of the floor rugs, and he slept with a shotgun under his bed. He spent the first few days in an alcoholic daze, until he realized that I was about to drink myself to death, and then he got it together. But he still looked for a way to get you out. He spent late nights looking for anything and everything that could get you out, and then he got up at the ass crack of dawn to go on with the apple pie life that you demanded he lead.

"And then, he had to take care of me because I spent the first three months trying to drink myself into oblivion. And then Dean made me clean up and made me realize that you wouldn't want me to kill myself that way. You would want me to keep it together and keep on keepin' on. But now I'm realizing that isn't true at all. You don't give a damn about me—"

"That's not true—"

"If that's not true, then why didn't you come? Why didn't you come back to me?"

"You were safe!" he shouted. "You were out of this life, and that was keeping you safe. After meeting me, you almost died several times. I thought that you and Dean would both be safer and happier without me."

"How could you think that? We thought you were in Hell. As in lake of fire, brimstone, eternal damnation kind of hell. That does not make me happy in any way, shape, or form. I could never be happy thinking that you were going to be tormented for the rest of eternity," she answered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sam put his arms on her shoulders—still a bit too tight—and pulled her close, burying her face in his chest. She breathed deep and took in the smell of him; it was overwhelmingly of gunpowder and salt. There was none of that faint smell of books and old leather that she had gotten used to. It was off, and broke the spell of his confession.

"So, what are you going to do now?" she asked quietly.

"I'll keep hunting with Samuel and the rest of them. I can't just stop. This is what I've done since I was a kid. I was raised like a warrior; I can't just give that up."

She nodded. "Of course. And what is Dean going to do?"

"I haven't spoken to him about it yet. I suspect he'll want to come back on the road with us. We would be a family again."

"And what about me?"

"You could come with us, if you want," he said offhandedly.

She thought it over for a minute; in the year that Sam had been gone, she had learned things. She had read through every book and knew every legend of every monster known to man. Upon her request, Dean had trained her in weaponry; her skills weren't as sharp as his, but they could get her by in a fight. She wouldn't slow them down that much, and she was sure that Sam wouldn't be bending over backward to look out for her.

"I'll need time to think on it."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you need." And with a quick, rough kiss to her lips, he left the room.

He passed by Dean on way out of the room, but didn't say anything to him. Dean leaned against the door frame, pondering what he had overheard. The Sam that had sacrificed himself to save the world a year ago would never have spoken to Erin the way that he had just overheard. Hell had really done a number on Sam—though Dean couldn't bring himself to hold that against his brother. His own time in Hell told him just how much the entire experience could change a man. He just hated the affect it was having on everyone around him.

He heard a cry from the living room, and was in the room a split-second later. Though he'd been expecting something along more violent lines, he instead found Erin staring at a hard-backed chair in the middle of the room. Her hands were gripping the back of the chair in a white knuckled grip, her jaw clenched tight.

"Erin? Are you okay?"

She nodded slowly, not saying anything. She was breathing slowly, completely measured and controlled. Still, she didn't answer him.

"Here," he said, turning the chair so that she could sit in it. "Sit down."

"No, I'm fine. I'm good," she answered quietly, still gripping tight to the chair.

"You're not okay. What's wrong?"

She looked at him, and he could tell that she was fighting back tears—unsuccessfully—yet again. Her expression wasn't sad like had had expected; instead, she was angry. It made sense, considering the conversation he had just overheard her have with Sam, but her anger didn't seem to be directed at him, either. Instead, she was staring at the damn chair with more hatred than seemed normal.

"This is ridiculous. I hate crying, and I feel like that's all I've done since the minute I woke up. And it's stupid, because crying doesn't accomplish anything. All it does is make me feel even more damn useless than I do already, which is pretty damn useless because—"

"Erin!" Dean cut her off before she could get going any further. "Erin, stop and breathe. If you don't breathe, you're going to pass out." He watched her as she very carefully drew several deep breaths and wiped angrily at the tears that continued to flow down her cheeks.

"I know you've noticed it. I mean, hell, I've only been around him a few days and I know that something isn't right—"

"He went to Hell, for chrissakes! Of course he's not going to be the same. You don't know what it's like—"

"I saw what it was for you, and I briefly saw what it was for Sam. I felt it—just a fraction of it. I know that Hell can mangle a person. But you came out of it okay—mostly okay, I mean. Sam isn't even a little bit of how he used to be," she whispered.

"We have to give him time to adjust to being with us—"

"I can't."

Those were words that he never thought he would hear coming out of Erin's mouth. This was the woman who had strived so desperately to help Sam stay strong and hold out against Lucifer. This was the woman who had fought to find all possible alternatives to Sam saying yes. She had reminded Sam of his own strength and compassion in a time when Dean hadn't been able to do so. This was a woman who had probably never seen a situation that she gave up on.

Until now.

"What?" Dean asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"I can't give him time. I-I can't." Her mouth kept moving, like she meant to say more but she couldn't force the words out. Her entire posture was wrong, and that only made it that much more obvious. She looked like she was about to fall over, but she wouldn't sit down in the chair. Her hands were still gripping the chair too tightly, and she was still hunched over and wouldn't stand up straight.

"Why won't you sit down?"

"You're not sitting," she answered quickly.

He sat down quickly on the sofa. "There. Now have a seat." As she opened her mouth to begin speaking, he cut her off. "Don't tell me that you don't feel like sitting."

When she realized that she didn't have any other option, so she slowly sat down. As she sat, pain shot through her and she couldn't stifle a gasp. She hated herself for not being able to stop that tiny incriminating noise. Dean's face fell as he heard the sound, and he rushed to where she was sitting in that damn uncomfortable chair.

"Don't rush over here like it's some kind of damn emergency. I'm fine."

"You're hurt," he said, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "You're hurt. What happened?"

"I'm fine," she answered defensively, wrapping an arm around her body. Her oversized flannel shirt slipped off one delicate shoulder and he noticed several dark red marks. He moved closer to get a better look.

"You're in pain. Obviously, you're not fine. Are those hickeys?" She quickly pulled her shirt back on to her shoulder, but the damage was already done. He grabbed the collar of the shirt and pushed it back down.

"Stop it! Let go, asshole—"

The marks weren't hickeys, he realized upon closer inspection. They were red and new, but he could see that there was an individual pattern in the marks, like teeth. There were bite marks on her shoulders and neck.

"Are those bite marks? Those are bite marks. Did…did Sam do that?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief. She just looked at him, completely silent, and that silence was answer enough for him. "Sam did this to you."

She nodded. "Last night. He wasn't…he wasn't himself. The…the first time, he was gentle. He—" She struggled to get the words out, and he gave her all the time she needed. Finally, she pushed off her overshirt an showed him the bruises on her wrists and upper arms. She gestured to the small half-moon scars on her upper arms. "The first time, he cut me with his fingernails, and I wanted him to. I wanted the marks to scar so th-that I would always have that reminder, you know? But he was gentle then, even when he was scratching me.

"Last night, he didn't even think about it. It hurt. He squeezed me too tight and he left bruises. I cried, and he didn't even notice until he was—until he was finished. And then he just kissed me and rolled over and left me there. He didn't even try to make it better—"

"God, stop! That's enough," Dean said, cutting her off with a raised hand. He put a comforting arm around her bruised shoulders and pulled her close. "God, I'm sorry."

"Don't. You didn't do it, so why should you apologize?"

They just sat there in silence for a long time, neither of them wanting to break the silence. She didn't like being in Dean's arms—not when Lisa and Ben and Sam were just next door in the other room. It felt wrong; Sam was the one she loved, not Dean. But this new Sam that they had was leaving a huge hole in both their hearts, and they were the only ones that understood. With a deep breath, Erin finally said what she hadn't been able to bring herself to say all morning.

"Whatever that thing is that's walking around in Sam's skin…it's not right. If that really is Sam, he came back wrong."


End file.
